Pedestal
by bandgirlz
Summary: Never put a man on a pedestal. Matsumoto learns how to be jaded while Hitsugaya tries desperately to fix what he broke. With another arrancar assault and the past coming back to haunt them, these two will be lucky to make it out whole. HitsuMatsu.
1. Chapter 1

**Pedestal**

God, what had he done? It'd just been a mistake. One tiny, miniscule mistake.

He knew more than anyone how devastating a mistake could be. That was why he always made sure to be responsible, why he locked all the pain and the guilt, the bitterness and the memories away, why he wrapped the mantle of his dignity and position around his shoulders and _never_ let it falter.

But the night before it had just been too much. Two years, exactly, from the day he had killed his best friend and closest family member. And Central 46 wanted him to go back to the World of the Living—how could they ask that of him? Didn't they know what Karakura Town was to him, what had happened there, what it represented? Why couldn't they just leave him to his paperwork, to his internal investigations, to training his squad?

"We let you wait too long," Yamamoto had lectured. The bastard. "You can't hide forever, Toushirou."

He sure as hell could. They didn't know, didn't understand the extent of the fury, the darkness inside of him. Or if they did, they didn't know how fragile a hold he really had on it all or how much that hold depended on suppressing his memories.

So he'd given into weakness, just for the night. One night to fall apart, to drown his sorrows, then he'd wake up and resume his duties and go to Karakura Town and be _responsible_ again.

He'd awakened naked with a pounding headache and a fuzzy memory. He knew he had gone to a bar, some nameless, faceless watering hole in Rukongai, and drunk until he barely knew his own name. And then a woman was there. Someone he knew. There was hugging, teasing, kissing. He took her home with him. He remembered thinking this would make it better, that she could help him forget.

The rest was a blur. He was pretty sure he had acted like a wild animal. Grabbing, taking, not waiting for an invitation or seeing to her pleasure. He wasn't even sure she had reached fulfillment.

Cursing, Toushirou finally dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. If only he knew who the woman was, he could apologize, make it up to her.

He didn't think he could feel any guiltier. Then he tripped over something on his way through the door.

He looked down at a crumpled pink scarf.

Fuck.

* * *

She never should have put him up on that pedestal. Why had she? He could be just as vicious as any other man.

It was like a dream that had suddenly turned into a nightmare. She'd thought if there was one man she could trust to treat her with care, it was Hitsugaya Toushirou.

She'd been wrong.

She'd found him in a bar. She supposed that should have been a warning. She'd hugged him and teased him about going all the way to Rukongai just for green tea.

Then he'd kissed her, the taste of whiskey as intoxicating as his own rich flavor on her tongue.

She'd thought her fantasies were coming true, that the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, allowing him to finally show her that he felt the same way about her that she did for him.

She loved him, loved his strength and his wit and his unwavering loyalty. He was what she'd always wanted.

So when he'd pulled her against him and shunpoed away, she'd gone with him eagerly.

She should have looked the gift horse in the mouth.

In her dreams, he had always been gentle, loving, just a little bit timid and unsure. He saw to her pleasure foremost and often, made her feel safe, cherished, loved.

In reality, he'd made her feel cheap. He'd ripped her clothes off to roughly fondle her breasts, pushed her to her knees and shoved his length down her throat until she choked, tears stinging her eyes and staining her cheeks. He had cared nothing for her comfort, done nothing for her pleasure. When he'd finally softened and slid out of her, falling into a drunken sated sleep, she'd wrapped herself in the remains of her tattered uniform and slunk off to the bathroom to wash his touch off her body. She'd refused to cry.

Then she'd crept out of the taichou's quarters and returned to her own rooms, wondering what the hell to do next.

Rangiku shuddered, pulling a blanket closer to her body, subconsciously mirroring her actions from the night before.

She wished she never had to see him again, but she had to go into work. She wouldn't run and hide. She'd face his cocky smirk and knowing stare with her head held high.

Really, he had done nothing wrong. She'd been available, so he'd taken her in the way a man takes a woman. At no point had she struggled, told him to stop, or tried to leave. Her taichou was an honorable man; she was sure he would have stopped if she'd asked. Right?

_So why_ _didn't I? _Because she'd wanted to sleep with him. She'd just had visions of it being beautiful, of it meaning something. She thought he'd be different. And she'd been disappointed.

_Get real, Rangiku_. _You've been reading too many romance novels._ Sex was rough. It always left you feeling used and dirty. And men were all the same.

As for pedestals, well, they were dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry the first chapter was so short. I have the next few written, but I think they're better read with some pause between them, so I'm not going to post them all at once. Thanks to the 3 people who reviewed!

**Chapter Two**

When he finally arrived at the office, Matsumoto was already there.

He hadn't expected that. He hadn't thought she would show up until afternoon, if at all, and he'd been counting on that time to figure out what to say.

She was sitting on the couch, staring at something in her lap. She looked pale, drawn. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could clearly see the dark circles underneath them and doubted she had slept at all the night before.

Was that a bruise on her wrist?

He had been a poor lover, obviously, and taken advantage of his position, but surely he hadn't forced her, hadn't hurt her? He couldn't have been that far gone.

Would she even admit it if he had? Had he used protection? Could he have left her with a child she didn't want and nothing but hatred for its father? These questions were getting him nowhere.

"Matsumoto, we need to talk."

She jumped but didn't look up at him. "Oh, Hitsugaya-taichou, I didn't see you there. If you don't mind, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now. Let's talk later, 'kay!"

Her overly bright tone and use of his name-title combination made him wince. She hadn't addressed him like that in over a decade. He was so caught up that he almost didn't notice she was doing paperwork.

"What the—" he cut himself off. "As happy as I am to see you actually working, this really can't wait. I have to leave for the World of the Living soon."

That got her attention. "What? Taichou, why? What's going on?"

"It's—"

"Is it because of last night?"

"No, but it is one of the things we need to discuss. But not here," he added, glancing at the door. Seated officers and other taichous were in and out of their office all the time; they needed somewhere more secluded. "The roof."

She nodded and he headed up, letting her take her time. He'd been vague on purpose to ensure that she wouldn't take too long.

He used the time he had to figure out what on earth to say. How did a proper taichou apologize for taking advantage of his fukutaichou, make sure she was okay, and express regret for being an inconsiderate lover?

A card probably wouldn't cut it. _A proper taichou would never have gotten himself into this situation._

Too late. There was no helping it, he would just have to fumble his way through. He'd apologize, let her yell at him until she went hoarse, then offer to make it up to her in the manner of her choosing. He'd probably be paying off the credit card bill for the rest of his after life, but it would be worth it if they made it through this.

He turned as she appeared on the roof next to him, and he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

He'd seen his fukutaichou at her best and her worst: happy, sad, angry, hurt, frustrated, drunk, frightened, and determined. But he'd never seen that jaded look in her eyes before. Those eyes that stared everywhere but at him.

_We're not going to make it through this, are we?_

Desperate, he began. "Matsumoto. I'm sorry."

Her laugh was bitter. "Why? Don't be. I went with you willingly. I didn't say no."

The relief was immediate and overwhelming. "Thank God. I don't remember a whole lot about last night, to be honest, and I know just the fact that it was you means I took advantage of my position, but I couldn't stand it if, if—" He broke off, unable to say it out loud.

Her gaze jumped to his but skittered away just as quickly. "Fear not, Taichou. Your honor is safe."

_It sure as hell is not!_

"But I didn't do right by you. I was drunk and inconsiderate, and I hurt you."

She froze, then nodded toward the visible bruises on her arms. "What, this? You don't think something like this could slow me down, do you? Sometimes sex gets rough. It's no big deal. Geez, Taichou! I'm the girl, aren't I supposed to be the one who wants to talk about everything?"

"Don't make light of this, Matsumoto! I know that's not the way you really feel." He took a deep breath, reigning in his frustration. _You're supposed to be begging her forgiveness, you ass._ "Look, I know my conduct last night was inexcusable, unforgivable. If there's anything I can do to fix this, to make it up to you—"

"Thanks, but no thanks, Taichou. No offense, but the first time wasn't all that great for me. I don't think I'm up for a second round," she scoffed.

"Surely you don't think that's the best I can do—_And that wasn't what I meant_!" he snapped, coming to his senses.

She sighed. "Look, there's really nothing to talk about. You didn't force me, you didn't hurt me more than is normal, and I'll make sure that everyone who finds out knows you didn't take advantage of your position. You don't have to worry about me; I'll make sure you don't get into trouble."

"As if I care about that! And of course I'm going to worry. Did you even make me use protection? Could you be pregnant right now?"

He saw her shoulders stiffen and winced. _Shit_. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out the way I intended."

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and guess it didn't," she clipped out. "Let's just end that conversation with 'I'll let you know,' and move on to the one where you're going to the World of the Living. How soon can you go and how long can you stay?"

He nearly smiled, despite his despair. He knew her eyes were staring daggers at him. Or would have been, had she been looking at him at all. "You don't want to know why I'm going?"

"How. Soon. How. Long."

"Within the hour. A few months, probably three or four."

"Good. Maybe I'll feel up to talking again by the time you get b—_three or four months_!"

"Yes."

"B-but—" Worried eyes met his.

"Don't worry, Matsumoto," he said softly. "I won't stick you with the paperwork. I can do it from there if you send it to me, just make sure to leave me plenty of time to do it and don't forget to have someone pick it up again before it's due. You'll have to take over all of the training and run any smaller missions from here, but I have complete faith you can handle it. You know how to contact me if something goes wrong."

She nodded.

"This time will be good for us," he continued. "Some time to think."

_To heal_.

She didn't respond. With one final regretful look, he shunpoed away.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm stalled out on _A Fukutaichou's Duty_, so I thought I'd update this in the meantime. Please review if you like it!

**Chapter Three**

And just like that, he was gone. For three to four months.

Rangiku blinked back tears. Well, hadn't she wished that she never had to see him again? She was getting part of her wish.

She sat down on the roof and wrapped her arms around her middle. Why had he reacted like that? She'd expected him to be cocky, smug, impossible to deal with for a while (or forever, depending on how highly he ranked the accomplishment of getting her into bed).

She could even understand fear over ruining his reputation or losing his position. But this regret, his apologetic eyes, his concern about forcing her, hurting her, taking advantage of her . . . those, she hadn't anticipated.

Maybe she'd been too hard on him, made an error in treating him like any other man. Maybe he really was different, better. Surely there was something about him that made her fall in love with him in the first place, some reason she let him get her into bed without the most basic formality of buying her flowers or dinner or even a drink.

And maybe she was just grasping at straws again.

Rangiku jumped to her feet. No more feeling sorry for herself. It was just a one night stand. She'd have a nice long soak in the tub, then go out with the boys for a nice long celebration of her three month vacation from even the pretense of paperwork, and then—his words came back to her. Maybe she'd better not drink for a while, at least until enough time had passed for Unohana to check her over, let her know for sure one way or the other. Because she hadn't made him wear protection.

And, just like that, she was back to fervently wishing she had never met Hitsugaya Toushirou. Oh, why had she gone into that bar? Why had she let her taichou pick her up when he was so obviously not acting like himself? Why hadn't she insisted on a condom _or even brought the idea up_?

God, she was a fool. What had she been thinking? It was all well and good and simple to blame him, but _she_ had been the sober one! What if she really were pregnant? Would she have it? Would she be able to live with herself if she didn't? Would he want to be involved? Would he ask her to marry him?

Nah. Pregnant or not, Matsumoto Rangiku wasn't the marrying kind. If it were Hinamori in her shoes, he would marry her. Or Nanao. Or Orihime. Or even Rukia. But none of them would have let themselves get into that situation in the first place, and that was the difference.

But suppose, just for the sake of argument, that by some flaw in logic he did propose. Would she accept?

Hmmm, marriage to Hitsugaya Toushirou . . . . All that yelling and sarcasm and short-temperedness and loyalty and support and solidarity and kindness . . . .

Marriage to Hitsugaya Toushirou would be . . . bliss.

_Damn it_, not again! Her mission while he was away: get over her short albino tyrant of a taichou.

_Starting now._

* * *

Hitsugaya could hear shouting the moment he stepped out of the Senkaimon in front of Urahara's shop. He followed the noise inside to the almost-nostalgic sight of a teen with vibrant orange hair choking the shop's proprietor.

"Now, Kurosaki-san . . . ."

"I mean it, Hat-and-Clogs! If you think I believe for one second that you had nothing to do with my Substitute Badge breaking—"

"He didn't," Hitsugaya said, revealing his presence.

"Toushirou!" Kurosaki Ichigo shouted, dropping his death grip around Urahara's neck and rushing toward Hitsugaya, who sidestepped just enough to avoid a hug.

"It's Hitsugaya-taichou to you, Kurosaki," he auto-replied. Old habits died hard, apparently. "Long time no see."

The teen had grown in Hitsugaya's two-year absence. The changes weren't noticeable in his height or build so much as in his face, in the set of his jaw and the tightening around his eyes. This was the Kurosaki Ichigo he had known, defended, fought beside, and yet it wasn't. Hitsugaya wondered if changes could be seen in himself, as well.

"You haven't changed a bit, Toushirou!"

Apparently not.

"Did you finally decide to come for a visit? You haven't been to Karakura Town since . . . ," the Shinigami Substitute trailed off, gaze sharpening. "This isn't a social visit, is it? Is there trouble? Where's Matsumoto?"

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes at the teen's rapid-fire questions, flinching at the last one. His fukutaichou always came with him to the living world, if not to watch his back then for the shopping and socializing. That she hadn't even mentioned going with him . . . things were so fucked.

"Not trouble, exactly, but you're right that this isn't a social visit. The soutaichou wants a full report on you: your fighting ability, day-to-day actions, responsibilities in the World of the Living, etc. Basically, you're being audited."

"What? Why? I thought Rukia sent in regular reports—"

"The soutaichou wanted something a little more comprehensive and slightly less biased."

Kurosaki shrugged, then glared at him. "Wait, you said before that Urahara had nothing to do with my badge breaking . . . did _you_ do something to it, Toushirou?"

"Hitsugaya-taichou. And good catch. It is customary to take a Shinigami off of active duty during his review period. Usually, his zanpaktou is confiscated. Given the circumstances, I thought this was the better route." Hitsugaya stared into the substitute's eyes, willing him to read between the lines and, for God's sake, not say anything about it. _You still have that talking stuffed animal, dumbass._

After a moment, the teen just nodded. "So why does that old man want a report on me now?"

"It's customary—"

"Don't give me that 'customary' crap. You suck at lying. And the way you're already finding ways around rules tells me this is a big deal."

Hitsugaya sighed. He had hoped to postpone this conversation, if not avoid it completely. He hadn't counted on Kurosaki getting smarter. "Basically, no one knows what the hell to do about you, Kurosaki. There hasn't been a Shinigami Substitute in centuries, and for good reason. You're reaching the age of majority soon, and you're going to have some decisions to make. So are we. We're still short three taichous, soon to be four, and you've been recommended several times. Opinions are split on you because of your age and the fact that you're still alive, you lack formal training, you've never been a part of a squad, and the only Shinigami skill you've bothered to develop is sword work. You also haven't done yourself any favors by constantly opposing the Gotei 13."

"When have I ever—"

Hitsugaya counted the incidents off on his fingers. "You broke into Seireitei to rescue Kuchiki Rukia and wounded countless Shinigami, you disobeyed direct orders when you went after Inoue Orihime in Hueco Mundo, you attacked our team that went to collect that Memory-Crystal girl, Senna, then there was that disaster with the noble family when you raised your sword against _me_, need I go on? You're a wildcard, Kurosaki, and too powerful to be ignored. It's my job to observe you and recommend a course of action."

"Such as?"

"Promoting you to taichou, revoking your substitute status and sealing your powers away, or something in between."

Kurosaki paled. "Why the hell are you the one making that decision? You hate me!"

The white-haired taichou smirked at the teen. "I don't think the soutaichou likes you very much," he lied.

The teen shook his head. "I don't know why you even bothered to come. Why don't you just write your recommendation now and have done with it?" With one last glare in Hitsugaya's direction, he ran off.

"Ah, the fury and passion of youth," Urahara sang from the floor.

_Yeah, tell me about it._

"Are you going to go after him?"

Hitsugaya shrugged. Dealing with people, especially people's emotions, wasn't really his strong point. Matsumoto would know what to do. But he didn't know what to do about her, either.

Or her jaded eyes.

* * *

The office felt so empty. On day two of their separation she'd gone in a few hours late, like usual, but there was no one to scold her for it.

_Good. Good riddance._

There was also no one to greet, no one to tease.

And with no paperwork to (pretend to) do, no real reason to be there.

She only lasted five minutes, deciding to go check on the training teams instead. And if she happened to swing by Shunsui's on the way and never quite make it, well, there'd be no one to yell her later.

Why did that thought make her feel lonely?

She got halfway to the Eighth before she remembered she couldn't drink sake anyway. Training, it was.

* * *

On days three and four, she didn't even bother going into the office. The paperwork was with her taichou and wouldn't be ready for pick up until the end of the week, so there was no work to do there. She couldn't drink, so there was no reason to raid her secret stash. And even if she were to take a nap on the couch, _he_ wouldn't be there to be annoyed by it. It was all meaningless.

So, training again. If something didn't change, she was going to have her bankai by the time he returned.

* * *

On day five, she went to the Eighth anyway. Haineko was being bitchy and the training team leaders had tactfully suggested that more would get done if she weren't breathing down their necks.

Two hours into her spiel on how frustrating it was when Hitsugaya-taichou crossed his arms, Nanao threw her out.

"Rangiku-san, go do _something_!"

"But with _who_, Nanao-chan? You're my only friends!" she whined.

"I think Jyuushirou's feeling under the weather, maybe he could use some of your lovely, uh, cheer," Shunsui suggested, sweatdropping from his hiding spot behind Nanao.

So she brought Ukitake tea and complained about her taichou through four cups of the stuff before he gave her a look.

"Rangiku, I think something is bothering you," he said, cutting her off.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"Something besides the vein that throbs on Hitsugaya-kun's forehead when he gets angry."

"I—"

"Why don't you tell me about what's really bothering you?" he asked in that gentle tone of his. The tone that would not be denied.

She blanched. "Oh, well, look at the time! I really better get going, hope you feel better soon, darling!" she chirped, racing for the door. Strike two.

Hisagi let her hang around indefinitely, let her bore him to tears with her continuous ranting, simply nodding in agreement or grunting noncommittally while he continued to do his work. She could only stand it for an hour.

"Disagree with me, damn it! Say something and mean it! Yell at me, kick me out, do _something_!"

He raised his eyebrows, looking vaguely hurt. "I'm not your taichou, Rangiku-san."

_No, you're not._

And that was the problem, because it wasn't company she missed. It was _his_ company.

* * *

On day six, she went to see Unohana-taichou and explained her situation as succinctly as possible:

"I really need a drink, I mean _really_ need a drink, but I might be pregnant and I don't want to do anything that might hurt a baby so please check and tell me I'm not!"

The Fourth Squad taichou smiled at her kindly. "How long has it been? After five days, a reiatsu screening can sometimes confirm that a baby is present, but I cannot tell you for sure that you're _not_ pregnant until at least ten days have passed."

Rangiku felt like crying. "So if it's been six days, you can tell me if it's a yes, but not if it's a no?"

"Yes."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense!"

"Sometimes the baby's reiatsu isn't strong enough to appear this early, so there are a lot of false negatives. But if the screening detects a separate presence, you'll know for sure that you _are_ pregnant. Are you ready to perform the test?" the taichou asked as she led Rangiku to an examining room.

The only thing she might find out was the thing she wasn't ready to hear. Rangiku really needed a hand to hold right now. She had her taichou's number, she could call him. But she didn't think this qualified as an actual emergency and, regardless, she wasn't sure she was ready to face him. She could call Nanao-chan instead . . . but then she'd have to explain _why_ she needed a pregnancy test. Rangiku was one of the friendliest people in Seireitei, damn it! So why was she always facing the hard stuff alone?

"I-I'm ready Unohana-taichou," she stuttered.

The procedure was surprisingly non-invasive. The dark-haired woman simply ran her hands over Rangiku's clothed stomach. Which unfortunately meant that Rangiku didn't have any pain or discomfort to distract her from her nerves. _Oh, God, what if it's positive, what if it's positive, what if it's positive?_

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou, you're going to need to calm down," a gentle voice broke into her terror. "Your reiatsu is flaring up all over the place, and I can't figure out if it's emotional or protective. Maybe if you had someone sit with you while I do this?"

_Call him. Just call him._ "N-No, I can do it on my own. Just give me a second to calm down."

The results were inconclusive.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm super-excited about this chapter; it has the scene in it I wrote a long time ago & I've been trying to get to from the beginning. Please let me know what you think!

**

* * *

****Chapter Four**

Being away from him was more difficult than she'd thought it would be. When he'd left she'd been so hurt, so disillusioned, so _embarrassed_, that she just wanted him to go away, to hurt too.

But Hitsugaya-taichou was the common thread that ran through her life. She hadn't realized how much she relied on him, how much her sanity depended on him always being there, always being the same angry, impatient, loyal, kind-hearted, infinitely reliable unstoppable force that he was.

So he wasn't a knight in shining armor, wasn't prince charming come to sweep her away from the troubles of the world. So he was fallible.

That didn't mean she could live without him.

He might not be _everything_ she'd always wanted, but he was _what_ she'd always wanted.

So on the seventh day she went to pick up the first load of completed paperwork herself. She found him at Urahara's shop, on, where else, the roof. He was sitting there, staring at the sunset, looking so lost and so heartbreakingly beautiful it hurt to look at him. "Taichou, I've come for the paperwork."

He tensed. "Matsumoto! Tessai has it. When I mentioned it before, I meant send an unseated squad member. There was no need to come yourself."

He turned his head to look at her, and the full force of that blue-green stare was too much. She looked away. If being away from him hurt, being near him was almost as bad. She couldn't hear his voice without remembering, couldn't see his hands without feeling them _grabbing_ her, _hurting_ her.

_God, I wish things could just go back to the way they were before._

"I don't think it works like that," he whispered. Either she'd said it out loud or he was a mind-reader. Knowing him, it really could be either one.

"I know," she replied.

His gaze followed hers to his hands, snapped back to her face, and finally landed on her wrists where the last of the bruises had yellowed and almost faded away.

_He should see the ones on her breasts, they were still black and blue._

He flinched. God, was she saying everything out loud?

"Taichou, I—"

"Ukitake still hasn't replaced his fukutaichou. And Kyouraku needs a third seat."

Where was he going with this?

"I'm sure one of them would be happy to have you. You can be out of the Tenth before I return."

"Taichou!"

"Hell, if you prefer, I could arrange it so you never have to see me again."

"But—"

"Matsumoto, you deserve a taichou you can trust. One who won't betray you in a moment of weakness."

Betrayal or not, trust or not, memories or not, all she wanted was him.

"How can you just send me away?"

"How can I not! I took advantage of you in the worst possible way. You shouldn't ever want to see me again! You can't even look at me. A taichou and fukutaichou can't work like that. They have to trust each other."

"But, Taichou, I don't want to go!"

"Then look at me, damn it! Look at me and tell me that you can trust me! Tell me that we can get through this and make me believe it," he begged her, tears in his eyes.

She tried, she really did, but a sudden flashback to him gripping her hair, forcing his length down her throat, made it impossible. "I-I can't, Taichou. Not right now. Not yet."

He closed his eyes, turning away from her. "You don't have to decide right now. Take this time, while I'm gone. Decide what you want to do—no, what you need to do. Decide what you need _me_ to do. I'll do whatever it takes, Matsumoto, whether you decide to stay or go. Whether we can get through this or not, I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. But if you can't forgive me, if you can't learn to trust me again . . . then I can't be your taichou any more."

"T-taichou—" she sobbed.

"Just—don't call me that. Not until you decide. Maybe . . . maybe not ever again."

He shunpoed away, leaving her crouching on Urahara's roof, shoulders shaking, eyes filled with unshed tears. And fear.

Why did men find it so easy to walk away from her?

* * *

Toushirou hadn't had a decent night's sleep in days. Every time he started to fall asleep, the dreams came back. They always began the same way, with Aizen turning into Hinamori on the end of his sword. _Shiro-chan, why?_ Then black hair went red-blonde, and it was Matsumoto in his arms, Matsumoto begging him for answers he couldn't give. _Taichou, why?_ He screamed, and everything fragmented. Snatches of things he couldn't even consciously remember: the warm softness of her skin beneath his cold, calloused hands, the shock in her tear-filled eyes as he forced himself down her throat, the hitch in her breath—_was she crying?_—as he thrust into her too-dry, too-tight passage.

He was a monster.

And the words she'd whispered to him in the bar, that somehow his ears had caught but his brain hadn't registered because he'd been too intent on her body to care:

_I love you, Toushirou._

She loved him. Or, she had. Before he'd all but raped her, left her bruised, aching, unsatisfied; alone to put herself back together.

Before he'd left them both to this void. To these conversations that didn't go anywhere, that just hurt them both. She was sliding through his fingers. If he could just touch her again, just hold her in his arms one more time, it would all make sense. He could make her understand. What, he wasn't even sure himself, but somehow he knew they would both understand.

At the same time, it had to be her move; he knew now that he hadn't taken advantage of his position the first time, not really, but his treatment of her had still been criminal.

He just wasn't sure he would live through another encounter and come out whole.

_Who am I kidding, I'm not whole now!_

"Toushirou, you look like shit."

He whirled on the Shinigami Substitute with furious eyes. "It's Hitsugaya-tai—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't start. You'll say 'it's Hitsugaya-taichou, Kurosaki' and I'll say, 'Call me Ichigo,' but at the end of the day I'll keep calling you Toushirou and you'll keep calling me Kurosaki anyway, so what's the point? What's the point of any of it, any more?"

_Well, someone's in a snit. Lovely. Just what I need._

Actually . . . .

"Sit down, Kurosaki," Toushirou demanded. "Talk." For once he was going to be glad for the distraction of someone else's problems.

"Why, so you can psychoanalyze me and use the results to get my powers sealed away?" the teen sneered.

Hitsugaya just looked at him.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't fair," Kurosaki said finally.

"It's all right. You know I have no intention of making that recommendation. But neither do I intend to recommend that you be immediately promoted to taichou. You'd need to master basic kidou, learn how to control and sense reiatsu, spend some time in a squad to get the dynamic down first. You'd need to—"

"All right, all right, I've got it," Kurosaki interrupted. "You don't think I'm ready. I never said I was! I just . . . I don't think I can keep going on like this, the way things are."

They sat in silence for awhile, staring out at the sunrise.

"You want to know why they really sent me?" Toushirou asked finally. "It's because I'm the youngest taichou, the youngest ever, actually. They thought you could relate to me better because we're close in age, give or take a few decades." He rolled his eyes. "It was a stupid reason, but they weren't completely off."

The teen raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you know _why_ I'm the youngest taichou, Kurosaki? I didn't rise in the ranks so quickly because I'm ambitious. Power like ours . . . it has to have an outlet. We have to keep fighting, keep mastering our powers, or we'll . . ." he stared out at the lightening sky, thinking of his grandmother ". . . hurt those around us. The more I mastered my powers, the more control I gained, and the more control I had, the less I hurt and the more I was able to protect the ones I care about. So I mastered shikai, and I achieved bankai, and mastered several bankai techniques. But I haven't mastered bankai, Kurosaki. My power isn't mature yet; it's _still_ growing. It might not be mature for another fifty to one hundred years. So I have to keep training, keep fighting, keep gaining control. It's exhausting." He paused, meeting the teen's eyes. "We're a lot alike. Your power is immense, but it's not mature either. It grew ridiculously fast at first, so you might not notice that it's still growing, just at a much slower rate. You need an outlet, and slaying the stray hollow that decides to prey on Karakura Town isn't enough. I understand what it's like to sacrifice your youth to reign in your power, to protect the people you care about.

"At the same time, you're dealing with an obstacle that I never had to. You were pulled into our world, but you're still alive, and your body, your family, your friends, your life is here. You're constantly being pulled between the worlds of the living and the dead, and you can't sever your connection to either: your power has been awakened and you've seen the things that prey on the innocent, there's no turning back now. But you can't give up your life—Shinigami are called after death for a reason. There will be plenty of time for you to be a hero when your life is over. You're stuck between worlds, and I can't imagine how hard that is."

"Bullshit," Kurosaki snapped.

_Huh?_

"All Shinigami straddle the line between life and death. It's what makes us lucky—we're the only ones who move freely between worlds. If an ordinary person dies, say one of my school friends, he'll be trapped in Soul Society. He'll integrate into Rukongai, unable to return to his loved ones, and the people he left behind will mourn him and pray at his shrine. They're separated by the barrier of death. Then he'll make friends in Rukongai who will inevitably die and be reincarnated in the living world. They'll be unable to find each other, once again on opposite sides of that impenetrable barrier.

"For Shinigami, it's not like that. If my friend died, I could go to Rukongai and search for him. Sure, it may take years, but I could find him. If he died again and were reincarnated, I could find him in the living world. Sure, he may be a different person on the outside, he may not remember me, but I could find him, I could watch over him. We'd still be connected. That's our gift, Toushirou, as Shinigami. We control the wall, and it doesn't exist for us."

The substitute grinned. "That and a zanpaktou are the best things about this gig."

_Gift, huh?_

"Shinigami still mourn our dead, Kurosaki," he replied, thinking of Hinamori. "It's not quite as simple as you make it out to be."

"I suppose it never is. But it's still something."

The silence was comfortable this time.

"If . . . ," Kurosaki began after a while, "if you sensed Momo's reiatsu, would you—"

"No." There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in Toushirou's answer.

"Why n—" The substitute cut himself off this time as both of their pagers went off and they sensed a foreboding reiatsu.

"Menos," they said together.

* * *

She dreamt about him again. God, how she missed him. His quiet confidence. That unshakeable sense that they could do anything, face any odds, if only they were side by side. She really needed that now. More than apologies and ultimatums.

His words kept ringing in her ears. _Surely, you don't think that's the best I can do?_

Nanao and Orihime, they said that sex didn't have to be unpleasant, that men didn't have to be mean during and disinterested after.

She wanted to try again. Heaven help her, despite it all, she still loved him. She wanted it to work, but it couldn't—not with the ugly memories that assaulted her at the mere thought of his touch. But if they could try again, if it could be different, maybe he could erase those memories, replace them with something bearable.

She knew she could manipulate him into it, too. What she didn't know was whether he wanted her like that. His last words to her, about deciding, they were all about putting their sexual relationship behind them, about moving on as the leaders of the Tenth. Did any part of him want to be with her and not just pretend it had never happened? She didn't know if she was willing to take the risk.

She picked up her cell, stared at his number. The definitive pregnancy test was in two days. If she were pregnant, the choice would be made for her and she would take the risk. If not, well, she would just have to feel him out. If the idea of being with her did anything but make him gag . . . .

Crossing her fingers, she pushed send.

"What?" his deep voice growled into her ear.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._

"Tai—Hitsugaya-san, i-it's—" she stuttered.

"Matsumoto? What's wrong?" he asked in a gentler, but no less urgent tone.

"Can you come to Seireitei? I—"

"Hold on." She heard heavy breathing, the unmistakable clang of metal on metal, and then "Soten ni zase, Hyourinmaru!"

More heavy breathing, and he was back. "When? Right now?"

"Are you in the middle of a battle?"

"Was. It's over now." Was it possible to _hear_ someone smirk? "Do you need me to come right now?"

"Um, Okay." He was insane. "N-no, not now, but the day after tomorrow? It's—I have a pregnancy test, I . . . don't want to go through it alone. Unohana-taichou will be the only one there, and she won't tell anyone so you don't have to worry about it getting out. And if we don't say anything, even she will probably think that you're just coming to support me because I'm your fukutaichou. I wouldn't ask, but . . . ." she trailed off, unable to think of a way to end the sentence that didn't consist of _I'm scared_.

The other end of the line got real quiet. "Of course," he said finally, resolutely. "Matsumoto, I . . . I'm sorry you've been going through this alone. I'll be there, whenever you need me."

"Thank you, Tai—Hitsugaya-san. Eleven-thirty a.m. at the Fourth."

* * *

Pregnancy test. A baby.

He'd forgotten all about the possibility. What if . . . ? What would he do?

He didn't have to think about it. He'd do whatever it took to tie her to him. Because she was captivating and sexy and he couldn't live without her. Maybe it wasn't love, but it sure as hell was a start.

Kurosaki was right. The Shinigami were lucky: for them, death wasn't an impenetrable barrier. They guarded the pathways between life, death, and rebirth and passed through the different planes unscathed. If death, the ultimate obstacle, couldn't stop them, how could they let anything else stand in their way?

She'd loved him, once. He could make her fall in love with him again.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **SPOILER ALERT: The thing that sucks about writing fanfiction that's set in the future is that, well, the future happens before you expect it to. So, I've decided to modify my story line to accord with the end(?) of the King's Key arc in the manga. Some little things are going to have to change, and I'll try to make them obvious when they come up: Regardless of what may be revealed in the manga in the future, Hinamori's dead in this fic; and Ichigo's powers did go away, but now they're partially back. Got it? Ok, on to the story:

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Rangiku paced back and forth at the entrance to the Fourth Division, checking her watch. Why wasn't he there yet?

"Matsumoto."

She had a primal reaction to that deep, matter-of-fact voice.

When she wasn't around him for a while, she forgot how handsome he was. Really, he was stunning, but she spent so much time with him, disciplined herself enough so she wouldn't blush or stare, that she became desensitized. And then she'd see him after an absence, and it was all thick, silky hair with that one stubborn strand falling into turquoise eyes, and suddenly her knees were weak and she was stuttering. He'd make her miserable if he knew, tease her endlessly, the great man-killer Matsumoto swooning over her tiny little taichou.

He was all intensity, cold passion, if such a thing existed, wrapped up in a surprising informality. Surprising, at least, for those who knew him and how fanatical he was about his title. But that was about respect, not formality. On other things he was lax, content to let Matsumoto run the show her own way. He was function over form, and that may have been the thing about him Matsumoto liked best. If one of his squad had a good idea, he'd listen, evaluate, then let them take it and run with it, whether they were the most senior or junior, it didn't matter. He didn't have to be in control, didn't have to micromanage or take credit, he was happy to see his squad take initiative, interested in their lives and their careers, obsessed with their safety. She remembered when the Bounts came to Soul Society and Hitsugaya and she were leading the mission against them. They kept rounding a corner and finding their factions defeated, strewn injured on the ground. Her taichou was devastated. He didn't show it with his face or his voice, but she could see it in the way he cradled the injured in his arms, the way he asked if they were all right and reassured them he'd be sending help soon, the way he refused to hide behind the squad and went out to face the Bount on his own, leader to leader. He did it because that's what leaders do, but he also did it because he cared, truly cared for each member of his squad. That was why she couldn't imagine working for anyone else, ever.

The plan was going to fucking work.

So now she stood next to him in front of the Fourth Squad headquarters, blushing and staring and daydreaming like a school girl. Relief overcame her nerves for a moment and she gloried in the knowledge that he was there, alive, okay. He looked like crap, but he was there.

"You look awful," he said, breaking the silence. "Have you slept at all since I've been gone?"

Automatically her hand went to her face, checked her hair. "Tai—" _You can't call him that_. "Hitsugaya-san, you can't say that to a girl! Haven't I taught you anything over all these years?"

He ignored her, as he was wont to do, and checked her forehead with the back of his hand. She flinched at the contact, but he didn't pull back and she made herself settle into it.

_See,_ she told herself,_ it's just taichou. It's not so bad._

"I'm serious. What's wrong, Matsumoto?"

His intensity burned into her and she crumbled.

Sobbing, drooling, convulsing, head buried into his shoulder, arms locked around his neck, she would have died of embarrassment if she had anything left in her to care.

He held her.

"I'm scared," she whispered when she could breathe again. _Scared I'm pregnant. Scared I've lost you. Scared we can't ever fix this and we'll never be the same again. Scared that you don't even care one way or the other._

"Don't be." There he was, with the confidence she needed. "Either you're pregnant or you're not. Being afraid won't change anything. If you're not, then there's nothing to be afraid of. And if you are, well, it's not the end of the world. You just have some choices to make."

"Like what?" She didn't see any choices.

"Raise it on your own, give it to me to raise, marry me and raise it together . . . ."

She gaped at him. He hadn't even winced. This was the sign she'd been looking for.

"It's going to be okay, Matsumoto." His chin jerked in a nod, and then he turned and walked into the building, her at his heels, the way it seemed like it had always been.

And always would be.

"Tai—Hitsugaya-san," she whispered, just as he opened the door.

He didn't respond, but he did pause.

"After this, I have to talk to you. It's about . . . I've figured out what I need you to do."

Pause. "Of course. Let's get through this, first."

_Indeed._

* * *

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou, when I suggested that you bring someone to the next test, I meant a friend, or the possible father. No one's ever brought their _taichou_ before." Unohana exclaimed. "This procedure is more invasive than the last; are you sure you want to go through it with Hitsugaya-taichou in the room?"

Rangiku blanched. "Well, er, you see—" She took a deep breath and told the (partial) truth. "You've known us long enough to know that Taichou and I don't exactly have a conventional taichou/fukutaichou relationship, Unohana-taichou! You said I might like some support, and, well, Taichou _is_ my support system. He's always there when I need him. I needed a hand to hold, so he's here."

Toushirou squeezed her hand.

"Be that as it may, I really don't think—"

Rangiku flashed Toushirou panicked eyes. She couldn't do this without him!

"—it's proper under the circumst—"

"Is there a problem with my being here, Unohana?" Toushirou asked very, very calmly.

The healer looked at him. "Well—"

"Is. There. A. Problem, Unohana-taichou?" His voice didn't rise, but suddenly Rangiku was shivering, and it wasn't from the temperature. She'd had no idea he could be so scary.

The effect was apparently not lost on Unohana-taichou either, because she just said, "N-no, Hitsugaya-taichou. You're welcome to stay."

_Had he just Unohana'd Unohana?_

He held her hand, dutifully averting his eyes as Unohana-taichou placed her in the stirrups and began the tests. She'd told the truth, this time it was much more invasive, and very uncomfortable. But her taichou was there to distract her, the unconscious coolness of his reiatsu there to calm her. He didn't dote on her like a lover, didn't do anything to betray that they were more than taichou/fukutaichou, didn't do anything, really, but hold her hand. But it was enough. It was exactly what she needed.

Finally, Unohana-taichou delivered the verdict.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou, you can go have that drink now. I'm absolutely sure you're not pregnant."

Their eyes met, then flickered away. Her taichou dropped her hand, not having a reason to hold it any more.

It should have been the best news she'd ever received, she should have been squealing and jumping around. Instead, she'd never felt so alone.

* * *

"It's good that I'm not pregnant," she said a little while later, hiding her disappointment and pulling her robes back into place while her taichou politely looked away.

"Yeah." Was it just her, or did he sound a little dejected, too? "What did you want to speak with me about?

"Tai—Hitsugaya-san, I . . . I think I've thought of a way you can make it up to me."

"Anything."

She crossed her fingers and put herself out there. "I want a redo."

"_What_?" His eyes jumped to hers, confused and wary.

"I want a redo. You and me, together again. You said you could do better, right? So prove it to me!"

His arms were crossed, trademark scowl on his face. "Matsumoto, that's ridiculous. I refuse."

"I thought you said you'd do anything!"

"Yeah, anything that will _help_! This is just going to make everything worse!"

He glared at her and refused to budge. Rangiku couldn't help the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Hopeless. Who was she kidding? Like she could get him to do anything he didn't want to do. Like he actually _wanted_ her when he wasn't drunk and delirious.

"Taichou," she made a final plea, not even bothering to correct herself, "we're a mess. I just want to go back to the way things were, and I think you do too, but we _can't_ right now, and it's all because of some stupid nightmare that makes me flinch when you touch me. I just want that to go away, but I don't think it can unless I can replace it with something else. It's the only way. And it has to be you."

His jaw clenched and the muscles flexed in his arms. But his eyes were riveted to hers.

"What I said earlier to Unohana-taichou, well, it's true. You've always been there for me, taichou, whenever I needed your help. Well, I need you now. I know you don't want to do this, but please! It's the only way. Please don't give up on us!"

"Matsumoto. I'm sorry."

She sank to the ground, emptiness consuming her, the pain overwhelming. So this was what she meant to him, after all these years? This was how it ended?

She noticed the cool touch of his reiatsu before she felt his arms wrap around her.

"You make yourself miserable, you know. If you would only wait for people to finish."

She squinted at him. "Huh?"

"_As I was saying_, Matsumoto, I'm sorry. All of this is my fault, and fixing it is my problem, not yours. You've found a solution, and while I'm skeptical—very skeptical—about it, you shouldn't have to beg me to do my part. Like I said before, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Even me?" she quipped.

He blushed instantaneously, which was adorable. But she really shouldn't have said that, because he also let go of her and stood up. "At least I know you're all right," he muttered, grimacing. "When do you want to do this . . . _thing_?" he spit out the last word as if he couldn't stand it lingering on his tongue.

That worried her, and her rollercoaster emotions swelled up once again. "Tai—uh, Hitsugaya-san—God, I know I'm being irrational, but if you're going to be like that about it, then it's better if we don't do this. I mean, the point of it is for it to be _better_, to make _good_ memories, and . . . ."

She trailed off when he turned around to look at her. He was _winking_.

"Don't worry so much, Matsumoto. Believe it or not, I am not an idiot. I'm also actually quite _good_ at this." He flashed her one last smirk and was out the door.

Well, if that didn't beat all.

He was long gone by the time she realized they hadn't set a date.

* * *

Toushirou couldn't get through the senkaimon fast enough. He stepped out of it into Urahara's shop and fell flat on his ass.

What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to that? She was needy, vulnerable, and she had a right to be! And she was Matsumoto, so of course she was coming up with preposterous schemes. That didn't mean he was supposed to agree to them!

But when she turned to him and begged him not to give up on them, what the hell was he supposed to do? Let her fall apart? _Better now than afterward, when we both have memories to suppress, when we can't hide behind the veneer of a drunken mistake._

Maybe he was just being selfish, trying to protect himself?

"Goddamnit, I am _not_ a stud service!" he thundered.

"That is good to hear, Hitsugaya-taichou," Urahara said, tipping a tea cup toward him. "I don't believe anyone said you were."

He looked up to see Urahara, Tessai, Kurosaki, Kuchiki Rukia, Kon, and the children staring at him like he was insane.

Which he supposed he was.

"Just clearing up any doubt," he snapped, pulling himself together (and off the floor) and heading to the table to snag a cup of tea. "I apologize for dropping in unexpected. It appears I interrupted a strategy meeting. Have things changed since this morning?"

Kurosaki gave him a we'll-talk-later look while Kuchiki Rukia jumped in to brief him.

"Hitsugaya-taichou, the hollows appear to be organizing some sort of attack."

"Organizing? But that shouldn't be possible. Aizen's locked away in Seireitei, all of his arrancar are dead. We haven't seen anything organized from the hollows in two years."

Kurosaki winced, meeting his gaze with guilt filled eyes. "We didn't kill _all_ of the arrancar."

"Grimmjow."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

He'd only been in Soul Society for a couple hours, but his brief presence made his absence even more apparent. God, she _missed_ him. Already. Rangiku didn't do alone well. Not when it was synonymous with lonely. And so she turned to her familiar friend that would never desert her—sake.

As she took yet another sip and let it warm her from the inside out, Rangiku wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. And whether it even mattered if she had. Could one terrible mistake on top of another really be that much worse?

Because now that she thought about it, maybe her problem with Hitsugaya wasn't the ghost of his fingers on her skin—that irrepressible phantom touch she felt every time she saw his face, heard his voice—but the memory of him acting so out of character—so rough, so uncaring, so heartless in the face of her pain. Sex could fix the former, but could it really do anything for the latter? Or would her inability to trust him persist, continue, color every encounter until even the make-up sex was tinged in its bitter murkiness?

She didn't have an answer.

And so maybe, in her haste to fix things, she'd gone and fucked them up even more.

She loved him. God, how she loved him. But maybe the man she loved and the man he was weren't quite the same. But she'd already put herself on the line, already committed. This second round was going to happen whether it was the right thing or not.

Matsumoto stared into her sake cup, hoping that it held all the answers.

"Fell off the wagon again, I see?"

The voice in her ear made her jump. "Nanao! What are you doing in a bar?" she asked, peering up at her friend through alcohol-glazed eyes. "Has hell frozen over? Taichou did keep meaning to go there."

"Very funny. I'm looking for Shunsui. He wasn't drinking in the office or with Ukitake-taichou, so he must be out at a bar tonight. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be this one. But what's with you?" Nanao replied, sliding onto the bar stool next to her. "I haven't seen you drinking in over a week, and it's not like you to drink alone."

She flushed. "I, uh, thought I'd try life sober. It sucked, bad, so I have some catching up to do," she covered, throwing back the sake in her cup and pouring a refill from the bottle.

"Mmmhmm. You've never been a very good liar, Rangiku-san. You thought you might be pregnant, didn't you."

It wasn't a question, and Matsumoto cursed her friend's perceptiveness. Nanao was like her taichou in that way; they saw right through to the heart of the situation, no excuses and no regrets.

"Oh, Ran-chan. Why didn't you tell me?"

"What was I supposed to say? Nanao, come help me, I've done something stupid yet again? I already know I'm a fool, I didn't need a lecture on top of it."

"I wouldn't have—" she broke off at Matsumoto's knowing look and blushed. "Okay, I would have, but you still should have told me. You shouldn't have gone through it alone. You go through it alone too often."

Hadn't she just been thinking the same thing? "It doesn't matter. It's over now, I'm not pregnant."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

Another glare. "Of course I'm happy about it!" she yelled, swinging her sake cup in the air, then cursing as the liquid spilled all over the bar and her fingers. "I'm celebrating, aren't I?"

"Are you? Usually people celebrate with others. And usually they look happy, Ran-chan. You just look disturbed."

She threw back the remainder of the sake, then stared into the empty bottle for a while. "Yeah, well, maybe being pregnant wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world," she said finally. "Maybe it would have been a blessing in disguise."

"Who is he, Ran-chan?"

A dry laugh. "Oh, no, I can't tell you that. Ask anything but that. He's a pipe dream and a mirage and I'm the fool who fell for it all."

"Ah, great, you're at the poetic stage of drunk already. This ought to be good," Nanao sniped, ordering two waters and thrusting one in her hands. "Drink. And keep talking. Tell me why you can't tell me."

"Because no one can know. Because it would ruin us—ruin him. And I love him, Nanao. God help me, but I do. And he deserves better. Better than me, better than this. And I deserve better, too."

"Have you told him you love him yet?"

"Yeah."

Nanao seemed surprised. "And?"

"And I don't think he heard me. It doesn't matter anyway. Nothing matters, except maybe we can still be friends. Maybe things can go back to the way they were. But only if . . . ."

"Only if you do something stupid?"

"You see too much, Nanao."

"I just know you too well."

At least someone did. They sat in silence for a while, Rangiku begrudgingly drinking her water, hoping it wouldn't yank her out of the blissful oblivion she was starting to fall into.

"Do you like sex, Nanao?" she asked finally.

Insta-blush. "Rangiku-san! You can't ask people something like that! Especially not in public!" she hissed. "And I told you before, it doesn't have to feel cheap. It can be kind of beautiful, actually."

"Look at you, the closet romantic. Shunsui's that good?"

Another blush, a pause, and then a frank look. "Oh, hell yeah."

Even Rangiku blushed. "Really? I mean, I don't really want details, but what's so great about it?"

"Besides the obvious? It's that it's him. Talking with him, laughing with him—mostly at him—falling asleep with him. Waking up wrapped in his arms. It's the closeness, Ran-chan. The way his attention is focused solely on you." She paused. "Or it can be, if it's the right guy and not someone you picked up at a bar."

Rangiku slumped. She'd been getting hopeful, but Nanao was romanticizing just a tad too much. She just couldn't be right. "Even good guys can be picked up at bars, Nanao. And, even with good guys, it can be cheap."

Despite her words, images were popping up in her head. Her taichou, holding her close. Her taichou, focused solely on her—not on paperwork, or training, or his past, or guilt, but completely in the moment. With her. Her taichou, wrapping his arms around her as they drifted off to sleep. It seemed too good to be true, but oh, would it be good.

It made a girl understand why others went for it, why they opened themselves up when they knew heartache was all but a foregone conclusion. The prize for winning was just that tempting. It was irrational. Ridiculous, really, but love was a fool's game after all.

And she was the biggest fool of all—the thing that tempted her most, his touch, was the very thing that haunted her.

"Oh, Nanao," she moaned, laying her head on the other woman's shoulder. "This could be a disaster! It might just make things worse! It could all blow up in my face!"

"It might."

So much for words of encouragement. "What'll I do then?"

"Probably what you're doing now."

_Good point. _Worse would just be more of the same.

* * *

Hitsugaya shunpoed across town, landing on roofs, telephone poles, anything wide enough to fit his foot. And, let's be honest—he had a pretty small foot.

The rumors of the hollows organizing seemed to be true. At any rate, they were pouring into Karakura Town in droves, and at higher and higher levels. In two days, he'd personally killed six Menos. That just wasn't normal.

But there was no hint of an actual plan, and not one glimpse of the leader. As Kurosaki had said, it just didn't seem like Grimmjow's style. But if not him, who?

Spiritual pressure spiked ahead of him, and he mustered up a burst of speed, arriving just in time to save Kurosaki's foolish life. He took down the adjuchas rushing for Kurosaki's back as the teen fought three more in front of him.

"Thanks, Toushirou!"

He grunted, not bothering to correct the idiot any more. He never learned. And maybe having someone around who didn't scrape and bow every time they saw him wasn't a bad thing. He shook himself. When did he start getting soft?

The truth was, he'd always been soft. Too soft, too nostalgic, too susceptible to the demons in his head. So he closed himself off, locked himself away, hid behind an icy façade so thick he thought he was safe. But he wasn't. That ice was melting, and despite Ukitake's and Matsumoto's and—God—Hinamori's statements to the contrary, he wasn't sure that was a good thing. His old self would never have hurt Matsumoto. But his old self couldn't fix things either. And so he had to melt more, when melting was the cause of it all.

They still hadn't set a date for this ridiculous plan. She'd used up enough of her courage asking him in the first place; he knew the next steps would fall on him. But he didn't want to think about that right now.

He focused on the hollows instead, which were everywhere. Like gray hairs, every time they killed one, two more appeared to take its place. They were weaklings, mostly. Easy to kill. But the sheer numbers were so high that, even with their entire force fighting at full power, they couldn't contain them. Hitsugaya sent a few ice dragons out, freezing a swath of the pests in their tracks, but it wasn't enough. He cursed his own abilities, which weren't really suited to fighting with allies; most of his bankai level techniques could kill massive amounts of enemies, but they didn't discriminate between friend and foe. He might as well be fighting with one hand tied behind his back and a blindfold on.

He caught Urahara's eye, and could tell the older man was having the same thought. They needed to split up.

No sooner were they making their move than the sky split open, and who should come out of the garganta but a familiar, mocking face complete with skeletal jaw.

"It's been a long time, Shinigami. So nice of you to put out the welcome mat for me," Grimmjow drawled,

Kurosaki shot toward Grimmjow, who didn't react, swinging his zanpaktou down in what looked to be a fatal blow. Just before it connected, a tiny masked head popped over Grimmjow's shoulder.

"Itsygo!" the miniature arrancar squealed, throwing itself at Kurosaki, who could do nothing but gape.

"N-nel?"

Hitsugaya, assuming Kurosaki had foolishly gotten himself into trouble again, quickly engaged Grimmjow before the former espada could take advantage of the teen's openings.

"Bankai!" he roared, shunpoing to a spot directly between Kurosaki and the threat.

Grimmjow turned toward him with a feral grin. "It's rude to interrupt a reunion, Shinigami. I ought to teach you some manners."

"And sending hundreds of hollow to the World of the Living to prey on the helpless is polite?" Hitsugaya shot back.

The former espada's eyes narrowed. "I knew you'd blame that on me."

"Are you trying to say you had nothing to do with it?"

"Would you believe me if I did?"

He paused. _Maybe._ "Probably not."

"Then what are we wasting time talkin' for?"

Hitsugaya nodded, and they both lunged forward, zanpaktou clanging as they connected, resonating with the resolution to kill.

They were evenly matched. Hitsugaya jumped back, assessing his opponent and planning his next move. Just as he took his next strike, Kurosaki popped up in front of his blade.

"Stop!" the idiot screamed, waving his arms.

Hitsugaya struggled to divert his momentum, missing the teen by inches. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kurosaki?"

"Get out of the way!" Grimmjow screamed, whacking Kurosaki to the side with one arm and using the other to strike Hitsugaya's zanpaktou again.

But Hitsugaya hadn't reformed his attack yet. He hadn't been a threat. Grimmjow could have easily run Kurosaki through and still had time to regroup before Hitsugaya was on him. He was that fast. So why hadn't he?

Years of experience had taught Hitsugaya to trust his instincts, which were currently screaming that Grimmjow wasn't what he appeared. Disengaging, he invoked three binding kidou in quick succession.

The former Sexta dropped out of the sky and landed in a bush, bitching the whole time but unable to get free.

"Now," Hitsugaya said, turning to the substitute, "what the hell was so important that you felt the need to _jump in front of my zanpaktou_ in the middle of a _fight_?"

Instead of looking ashamed, Kurosaki was staring down at the squirming Grimmjow and looking vaguely impressed. "You think I can really learn that kidou stuff?"

Hitsugaya felt that vein start to throb in his temple again. If this kept up, he was going to have a full on migraine. "Focus, Substitute. Why'd you try to stop the fight?"

That tiny masked head popped up again, this time from behind Kurosaki's shoulder. Closer up, Hitsugaya could see that it was what looked like an arrancar child. Best not to underestimate it, though—he couldn't help but think of Yachiru.

"We're not your enemies!" the little girl sang, snot running from her nose. She sniffed it back in, and Kurosaki winced.

"Gross," the teen muttered, leaning his head in the other direction.

Hitsugaya looked from one to the other, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Don't lie to them, Nelliel. Of course we're their enemies!" Grimmjow shouted, finally ridding himself of the bindings and struggling in vain to crawl out of the bushes.

Hitsugaya brought Hyourinmaru to the ready.

"I'll never stop until I prove I'm stronger than all of you Shinigami! Combined!" the crazy man cackled, skeletal jaw grotesque as it flapped in concert with his own. He sobered just as quickly as he'd lost it. "But we'll have to test our strength another day. Today, we're on your side."

"We're allies again, Itsygo!" Nel squealed, grabbing big handfuls of orange hair and pulling until Kurosaki cringed.

"Why should we believe that?" Hitsugaya snapped, ignoring the child's antics.

"Because you've already figured out for yourself that I'm not behind the hollow invasions—else you wouldn't've hesitated."

Perceptive. Dangerous.

"Even assuming that's true, why would you help us?"

"I want to take down who's really behind them even more than you do."

Hitsugaya's eyes flashed. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"Oh, I'll always be your enemy, Shinigami. I'm just not going to kill you today."

"Brave words from someone who was felled by a bush," Kurosaki taunted, dropping softly to the ground and hauling Grimmjow out of the shrubbery.

"Better a bush than a child!" the former espada snapped back, pushing Kurosaki's hands away and punching him in the gut.

"Ah, it's so nice to see them getting along!" Urahara mocked, coming up from behind him. "I'll clean up here. Why don't you take everyone back to my shop to get settled in? It sounds like the arrancar have a story or two to tell."

Hitsugaya looked at two of the strongest mortal enemies any of the worlds had ever seen, rough-housing like schoolboys on a playground. He looked at the green-haired arrancar child who had latched on to his leg and was currently drooling on his haori and wiping her nose on it at the same time. He looked at the conniving old man who was grinning widely as he set plans into motion that would send countless lives spinning off of their trajectories. He sighed.

It was going to be one hell of a long day.

But on the bright side, he hadn't thought of the mess with Matsumoto once.

Oh. Well, shit.

* * *

**A/N:**

Hello? (echo echo echo). Um, sorry for the wait, folks. Blame it on NaNoWrimo, Christmas, and well, lack of inspiration on my part. But it's baa-aaack (and long)! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and it wasn't too disjointed, and please, please review to let me know you're still reading!

~bandgirlz~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Grimmjow wouldn't start talking until he'd been served a cup of coffee—_no_ tea—and found a nice comfortable spot beneath a heating duct. By then, Urahara had returned with the rest of them, and introductions had to be made, and of course the creepy shopkeeper and his even stranger assistant had to ply Nel with every possible variation of cookie, candy, and sweet. Which certainly didn't make her easier to control.

So it was the understatement of the year to say that, by the time the two arrancar got around to telling their story, it was late in the evening and Hitsugaya was slightly miffed.

"Bet you forgot about us, didn't you?" Grimmjow began. "Thought you killed me or something. Like you could kill me!"

"Wasn't trying to kill you. Last I remember, I was trying to _save_ your ass from your own kind!" Kurosaki shot back.

Hitsugaya would have strangled Kurosaki if (a) the idiot wasn't snuggling a sleeping Nel who had finally hit a sugar crash, and (b) he wasn't sure that it would cause even further delay. He settled for a threat: "Espada, tell your story, and get to the point. The next person who interrupts him gets their mouth frozen shut."

Kurosaki looked like he wanted to protest, but all Hitsugaya had to do was raise an eyebrow for the teen to step back into line. There were threats, and there were _threats_, and this wasn't the idle kind.

"Anyway," Grimmjow began again, glaring at Kurosaki. "I passed out for awhile after Nnoitra's cheap shot, and when I woke up the place was deserted except for the kid, who was cryin' her eyes out somethin' fierce about bein' left behind."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hitsugaya saw Kurosaki wince and cuddle Nel even closer. Had he forgotten about her?

"I took the kid to the throne room, but it was empty, too. Aizen never left that throne room. We waited and waited for him to show himself, but he never did. Eventually we figured he must have died or run off somewhere, so we started searching for survivors. We managed to locate Nel's fracciónes, and a few dozen números and privarónes, but the rest of the arrancar were gone. All that was left were regular Adjuchas and Vasto Lordes."

Hitsugaya nodded. "Clean up crew. We couldn't leave all those arrancar to run amok."

Grimmjow grinned. "Well, guess you missed some."

"Continue your story."

"Well, with Aizen and the rest of the Espada gone, that put me in charge. So I rebuilt. Started with knocking down Las Noches and that creepy fake sky and putting up a palace truly worthy of the King of Hueco Mundo."

"And Nel started rebuilding our army!" Nel piped in, awake again.

"_You_ did?" Urahara asked.

"Yep! Cuz Grimmy's too rough on the Adjuchas. He kept killing and eating them instead of training them."

"Gross!" Kurosaki shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, Nel ate some too," she added, shrugging. "But only the weak ones."

"What did you think arrancar ate?" Grimmjow shot back. "Besides—"

"So you were rebuilding your fortress and your army. When did you start invading the World of the Living?" Hitsugaya interrupted. Keeping everyone focused might as well have been a full time job. It was a good thing he was used to dealing with Matsumoto.

The former Sexta sobered. "We didn't."

"What do you mean you didn't? That's what hollow do."

"Weak hollow, yeah. And that's what Aizen encouraged. But it's not really necessary. The weaker hollow can feed off the reishi in Hueco Mundo, and the stronger ones can feed off the weaker hollow."

"But that's not sustainable!" Rukia exclaimed. "You'll run out of weak hollow if you do that!"

"What's wrong with that?" Kurosaki asked. "Let them kill themselves off. Easier than making us do it."

Grimmjow sipped his coffee. "There will always be hollow that go to the World of the Living, but we don't need to prey on human souls as our primary food source."

"But you love to fight!"

"Humans don't put up a fight! They're helpless, like babies. There's no pride in taking them down. No challenge in it. It's cowardly. Besides, it brings us to your attention, and I'm not dumb enough to think we can take on all of the Shinigami at the state we're at right now. Like you said, Kurosaki, I can't be King if there's no one left to rule. So my plan was to lay low, rebuild, get stronger, keep to ourselves."

"What changed?" Hitsugaya asked.

"A few months ago, Yammy showed up."

"What?" three people shouted at the same time.

Hitsugaya held up a hand, silencing Urahara and Kurosaki. "We took Yammy down. Two of our strongest taichou did it personally. There's no way he could still exist."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. "Well, then, they suck at their jobs. They didn't see him dissolve, did they? Maybe they knocked him out for a while, whatever, but he's as much in existence as I am. And as much as I hate to say it, just as strong."

"He kicked Grimmy's ass!"

"Shut up, Nelliel!" the former Espada snapped, crossing his arms. "He took me by surprise, is all. Came out of nowhere, pulled our army out from under us, and took over. He's made it his mission to consume as many human souls as possible and to get revenge on you Shinigami. It's a stupid ass mission," Grimmjow griped, slamming his coffee mug down. "He's going to get my army killed, and I'm going to have to train a whole new one, damn it!"

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes. He was about to refocus yet _again_, when Nel jumped back in.

"Yammy's the one who started sending all the arrancar and Adjuchas to the World of the Living. We don't really know what his plan is, except that he's looking for human souls with a certain reiatsu."

"Strong ones?" Rukia asked.

"Yes, but not just any strong ones. We think he's kidnapped a couple kids, but he's killed just as many others with strong reiatsu. He's looking for something special, but we don't know what it is," Grimmjow said.

"How young?" Hitsugaya asked.

"I don't know, young! Like barely talking, young."

"How horrible!" Orihime gasped, drawing their attention to the doorway where she stood with Chad and the Quincy. "Babies can't survive in Hueco Mundo! We have to stop this!"

Rukia rubbed the human girl's shoulder. "We'll stop it, Orihime, don't you worry."

"Aww, Princess, I didn't see you there. Just as soft-hearted as ever, ain't cha? Soft everywhere, if I remember right," Grimmjow taunted, winking at her.

Orihime blanched, freezing in the act of sitting down. Rukia jumped in front of her, opening her mouth to tell Grimmjow off.

She was too slow. Hitsugaya was already on his feet, Hyourinmaru pressed up against the arrancar's throat. "Listen," he growled, "we don't need you. So if you can't behave and treat the women with respect—"

"It's okay, Toushirou-kun," Orihime mumbled, placing a hand on his sword arm. "Grimmjow just shocked me, that's all. I forgot what a dirty mouth he had."

Hitsugaya relented, resheathing his zanpaktou. He let himself be hugged by the overly emotional girl—who reminded him too much of a certain fukutaichou he wasn't supposed to be thinking of—while Grimmjow rubbed his neck and grumbled about Shinigami who didn't know how to take a joke.

He zoned out as Grimmjow finished describing the battles that had taken place in Hueco Mundo over the last few weeks, which wasn't like him at all. Normally he'd be hanging onto every word and expression, picking up clues and hidden meanings and constantly evaluating, synthesizing, combining it all in his head until he understood it backward and forward. Instead, he was only getting the highlights. His mind was focused solely where it shouldn't be.

Matsumoto. Him. In bed. Together. Again.

That was a lot of pressure. On him, on her, on them. One night. But one night could be powerful. It took one night to ruin everything—could one night fix it, too? He didn't think so. But he knew one night could make it much, much worse.

So for the first time in his life, Hitsugaya found himself in the absurd position of trying to find a way to make a one night stand _not_ feel cheap and tawdry. He knew things would be different. He would be aware of himself. He could certainly be gentler, nicer, more considerate this time around. He would treat her the way he should have in the beginning; the way she deserved to be treated. But at the end of the day, it would still be a one night stand. It would still be inherently emotionally unsatisfying. Or, more likely in their case, emotionally devastating for both of them.

He cared for his fukutaichou. This was the dumbest plan he'd been a part of, but he still wanted it to work. He had no intention of treating her like a five-dollar whore.

_No, just like an expensive one_, he mocked himself.

One night. He'd make it the best damn night of her life.

No pressure.

He'd send her a note. It was the coward's way out, as he was well aware, so he'd send her a gift, too, to make up for it. Maybe a scarf, to replace the one he'd ruined that night. He couldn't bring himself to buy pink—it was too girly and too much like everything hadn't changed—but she needed something vibrant. Bright and colorful, just like her. Without it, she looked lifeless. Dull. Ordinary.

Matsumoto Rangiku was anything but ordinary.

_Please let this work_.

* * *

Matsumoto studied the package she'd found on the couch in her taichou's office—which she supposed sort of doubled as her desk. She opened the note, her heart clenching at the achingly familiar handwriting.

_I'll pick you up at your place Saturday at 8. Dress for dinner._

—_Hitsugaya_

_P.S. This reminded me of you._

Just like him to get straight to the point. And he'd remembered to tell her what to wear, too. She'd trained him well. Curious what the "this" was he was referring to, she opened the package and pulled out—a scarf. It reminded her of _him_. Ocean blue, like his eyes. She clutched it in her fist like a lifeline, careful not to crush the fragile silk.

This was it. Now or never. Put up or shut up, lay out all the cards on the table, and every other stupid idiom she'd ever heard in her life. It was going to work. It had to work.

_Please let this work_.

* * *

He was early. She should have expected that. His mantra was, if you're on time, you're late; if you're early, you're on time. And Hitsugaya Toushirou was never late.

She wore a black dress, her fuck-me heels, and the scarf.

He wore a suit; black pin-striped, tailored to a T, she was almost jealous she hadn't helped him pick it out. Ishida's work, she'd bet her sake on it. And she didn't play around when it came to sake.

Regardless, he looked absolutely dashing in it. Not handsome, not cute, not even smart. Just smooth, sophisticated, and sexy as hell. If he checked his cuff links and straightened his tie, she might just swoon. Then he smirked at her, that little half-smile that was all too rare and all the more devastating for it. Her brain melted on the spot.

"T-tai—Hitsugaya-san," she whispered, standing in the doorway like an idiot with her mouth gaping open.

"Matsumoto," he greeted, offering her his arm. "You look lovely."

His expression didn't change. He was just as serious and intense as ever, but that irrepressible lock fell over his left eye, and for once it was anything but boyish. Hitsugaya on the prowl was lethal.

She didn't move, and his smirk grew into something resembling an actual smile.

"This is the part where you take my arm," he prompted after a few moments.

She flushed, surging into action. "Y-yes. Thank you. You look, um, nice too." She shut and locked the door behind her, placed her hand on his bicep, and let him lead her down the street.

She'd always known he was stronger than he looked, but she hadn't realized he _felt_ stronger too.

"You're drooling, Matsumoto," he teased, back to smirking.

"Shut up!" she hissed, smacking his arm.

He just laughed and kept walking. The night was cool and clear. Perfect for lovers strolling in quiet companionship.

"Does it bother you?" she asked after a while. _That I so obviously love you?_

He didn't ask what she was referring to. She could have hugged him for that. He just continued walking in silence as he mulled it over.

"No," he said eventually. "I guess, in some ways, it makes things easier. At least for tonight."

Neither of them wanted to think about what would happen afterward.

His hand closed over hers and he looked up, meeting her eyes. He seemed to muster all of his courage in that one unsteady gaze. "For what it's worth," he whispered, "the attraction is mutual. You're a beautiful woman, Matsumoto Rangiku."

Her heart flew into her throat, then crashed down to her stomach. He said attraction. Attraction, not love. It wasn't a confession. Hell, it wasn't even news. Every man she'd ever met had been attracted to her by design. But her taichou had never admitted to it before, never let on, so maybe that was a victory in itself. But a hollow one.

They'd stopped walking. He looked embarrassed. She broke eye contact first, tugged on his arm to urge him forward. "That's sweet, Taichou, but you don't have to play all romantic or anything. I understand. Now let's get to dinner before I starve!"

Playing it off was the best defense. This boy—this _man_—could break her heart.

Maybe he already had.

* * *

Hitsugaya could be charming when he wanted to be. Most of the time he didn't bother—what was the point? He much preferred bluntness to sweet-talking his way through life. But there was a first time for everything, and if ever a situation needed a little sweet-talking, this was it.

They sat across from each other in the restaurant, made friendly conversation as the flickering candlelight cast reflections on the wall. Something was off with Matsumoto tonight. She'd been taken off guard by him, he could read her that well, but ever since their moment on the street, she'd closed herself off to him. She was bubbly and talkative and her generally effusive self, but it was all on the surface. And for once, he couldn't get a good handle on what was underneath.

He hoped it wasn't nerves. Whatever happened after all of this, she had nothing to fear about tonight. He was there—100% present this time—and he would make sure she enjoyed herself.

"Are you all right?" he asked, quietly interrupting her story about the SWA's latest attempt to give Kuchiki-taichou a conniption.

She fell silent. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Take me out for dinner, make this a date."

"What, did you expect me to crawl in the window in the middle of the night?" he joked.

She flushed and turned away, and he had his answer.

"Matsu—Rangiku," he whispered, reaching across the table and laying his hand over hers, "you're my fukutaichou. And my friend," he added when he saw what looked like disappointment flash in her eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you before, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you again." To emphasize his point, he brought her fingers to his lips before entwining them with his own. "You're worth more than that. You know that, right?"

She snatched her hand away. "We both know better than to believe in fairytales, Taichou. You don't have to keep us this façade."

Had he made her that jaded?

"Fairytales are all about the ending," he shot back. "This is about the process."

Her eyes widened. "Taichou!"

He didn't have the heart to correct her, even though every little slip was like a punch in the gut. He distracted her instead, launching into a tale about Kurosaki Ichigo's latest folly. The idiot's antics were always good for a laugh. This time she opened up, relaxed. He could tell she was fully with him.

Yes, Hitsugaya could be charming. When he tried.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks for reading. And, whoa, thanks for the reviews last time! Lemon coming up next chapter: this is your fair warning. See you soon!

~bandgirlz~


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** (It's at the beginning for a reason.)

This chapter is not for the faint of heart (but then neither were the first two, so if you _are_ faint of heart, you probably aren't reading this far anyway). Also, I apologize for some crude language, but it's there as a contrast. Most of you won't even notice it, but for those who do, sorry—I hope you appreciate it for what it is. That said, on with the story, and please take time to review!

Oh, and kudos to anyone who can guess the line that made me laugh out loud when I wrote it . . . and then consider deleting it six or seven times. And kudos might mean an omake, if you have a good enough (tangential) idea . . . .

Finally, and in case I forget to say it often enough, _Bleach_ belongs to Tite Kubo, not me.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Rangiku should have had a glass of wine with dinner. Or eight. She should have had _something_ to calm her nerves so that now, as they walked back into her apartment and she hung up her taichou's coat, she would be too out of it to feel the panic creeping in.

Dinner had been—well, if not wonderful, then really, really nice. Like she'd anticipated, having her taichou's full attention on her was . . . potent. Thrilling and nerve-wracking and this whole evening in a nutshell and she felt like a contestant on a game show when they asked if she could "stand to see more" and she thought the answer might be no. It was just all so _much_.

And here he was, standing in her living room, expecting to have sex with her, and it was all her idea, but she was terrified. Fragments of memory bounced around in her head. Pain, fear, humiliation. "Taichou, I—" she began, ready to call the whole thing off and be done with it.

She'd expected him to be nervous, too, but he didn't act it. "Matsumoto," he interrupted, voice steady like she wished hers could be. "Do you really think I'm gonna hurt you?"

"No." Not when he was like this.

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"Tai—Hitsugaya-san, I . . . don't know." That was a lie and a cop-out, and his stare told her he knew it. She took a deep breath and tried again, tried to put into words what she tried not to even think about. "This is new for me. I've never had a man be gentle," she said, looking everywhere but at him.

He winced, but tipped her chin down so their eyes could meet. "Relax. Don't be frightened."

"I'm not frightened!"

"Yes, you are, and this was your idea!" he snapped.

"Am not!" _Liar._ "And so what?"

"So, maybe we shouldn't do this after all!"

The fire in her faded. "You're right," she said, hugging herself.

"Of course I'm right."

"I'm scared. But I'm more scared of what will happen if we don't do this than if we do," she urged, realizing it was true.

"Matsu—" She couldn't let him talk her out of this.

"I know you don't want to do this, but you promised, and I think it's the only way to fix things, and—"

"Matsumo—"

"—don't even try to pretend that you're not scared, too!"

He clamped a hand over her mouth, shutting her up. "I won't. I'm terrified."

She pulled his hand away, shocked. "Then why—"

"_I'm_ afraid of what this is going to do to us. _You're_ afraid of _me_, right here, right now. Don't be afraid of me, Matsumoto."

"Taichou." _Holy shit._

"I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do, and I'm not going to hurt you." He slid his thumb across her cheek, then cupped the back of her neck and drew her face down to his. "This is supposed to be fun. Are you having fun yet?" With those words, he captured her lips in a sweet, spell-binding kiss.

It wasn't the first time _I'm kissing my taichou, ohmigod, I'm kissing my taichou_ had run through her head. But this time she was kissing her willing, _sober_, completely in control of himself taichou. And that was a completely different experience.

Where before he had been urgent, forceful and a little sloppy, this kiss was pure slow, sweet exploration. He tested the firmness of her lips, nibbled at the corners of her mouth, slid his fingers through the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. It was a full sensory experience, and almost . . . playful?

She opened her eyes and he was watching her, and the clash of turquoise on blue was almost too intimate.

They broke apart finally, and somehow they were sitting on the bed in her room. When did . . . it didn't matter. "Tai—um, Hitsugaya-san," she murmured, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She thought she would do anything to feel the cold silk of his hair brush across her heated skin.

He just snorted. "Tell you what," he began, rubbing her back. "Since you can't seem to remember not to call me 'taichou,' how about for tonight you call me 'Toushirou' instead? At least it starts with a 'T.' Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I never intended for you to call me 'Hitsugaya-san' in the first place. It's too formal, and it doesn't suit you."

She couldn't hide her grin. Two years ago, she might have pushed her luck by trying out "Shiro-chan," but not now. The last thing she wanted to do was remind him of Hinamori. "Toushirou," she said, instead, savoring the gift for what it was.

"Rangiku?"

She nodded, burrowing deeper into his shoulder, savoring this third gift, or whatever number it was—she couldn't keep track any more. She just knew she'd been longing to hear him call her by name for years.

His arms wrapped around her and he kissed the top of her head. She'd never imagined he could be so affectionate. They sat like that for hours, or maybe moments, until Rangiku could feel the nerves return and she just needed them to get on with it, for better or worse, but right _now_.

He must have felt her tense, because he began to murmur to her, consoling nonsense that neither of them really listened to, but the rumbling of his chest under her cheek comforted her nonetheless. This was Toushirou, her taichou whether he wanted the title or not, and she trusted him. Had never stopped trusting him, really. She was just spooked, spurred on by muscle memory to recoil from his touch, haunted by nightmares that were likely worse than reality. This time would be better—already _was_ better—because he was treating her like more than an object, like a person he respected and cared for, which was more than any man had done before.

She wasn't a fool; she knew he didn't love her. But he held her in high regard, and that was the most she could really expect of her stoic superior. So even if the sex was fast and rough and painful again, she didn't think it would matter. Not if he would hold her like this afterward.

"I'm ready, Toushirou," she whispered, kissing his neck.

He pulled away, searching for something in her eyes. He must have found what he was looking for, because finally he nodded, kissing her again as he shifted them so they were lying on their sides, facing one another.

She held on to him, silently begging him to keep holding her, to take her away from this place and reality and let her drift in that dreamlike world she went to when he kissed her.

* * *

She was beautiful. And, inside her candy shell of bravery, very, very nervous. He needed her to stop thinking, needed to make her mindless and boneless and brainless with bliss. And get her out of her clothes at the same time, which was easier said than done.

He stroked her back with his fingers, her tongue with his own, deep drugging kisses until she moaned and had to break away, gasping for breath. He trailed his lips down her neck, keeping the intensity ratcheted up, not giving her a chance to pause, to think, to _worry_.

Her body was intoxicating. The softest, smoothest skin, curves in all the right places. Rosy lips and cheeks and, for once, those bedroom eyes were right at home.

He nuzzled her chin, brushed his lips across hers just for a moment, slid his knee in between her thighs. She shuddered when he touched her neck, didn't seem to notice as he slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders. She placed a hand on his chest, her touch tentative, and he leaned into it.

"God, yes, touch me," he murmured, taking a break from undressing her to tear off his tie and unbutton his shirt. Her hands slipped inside, stroking the sensitive skin over his abs, and he let out an involuntary moan.

She giggled, and he smiled, and a firestorm was unleashed. He felt the tension in the room snap as she crawled on top of him, stroking his sides, his chest, his neck, his face, trying to see how many noises she could force out of him. He played it up, not even bothering to hide a whimper when her fingers slipped under his waistband. At the same time, he undressed her, knowing she was too distracted to notice and too intrigued to care. Besides, it was only fair, he thought, as she pulled his shirt from his pants and sent it flying over her shoulder. He finally managed to unzip her dress, and it pooled around her hips, where it would remain until he was able to breathe again. She hadn't been wearing a bra, and her breasts were practically in his face, bouncing around as she ran her hands over his body.

He tried not to stare, and even harder not to touch. Her breasts were her most obvious feature, and he knew they were the first thing other men would go for. Hell, they were gorgeous. But he didn't want her thinking of other men, remembering, having second thoughts. So he went for her belly instead, nuzzled the lean muscles of her abs as he stroked his hands up and down her sides, soothing her. Because she'd noticed now, that she was wearing less than he was, and he wasn't sure if her rapid breathing was pleasure or panic.

"Toushirou," she whispered.

He drew back, meeting the uncertainty in her eyes without apology. "It's okay," he whispered in return.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her upper body flush with his. Nerve endings stirred as bare skin met bare skin. Weight and softness pressed into his chest, and he choked back a groan as he brushed her hair away from her face, stroked her shoulders.

She didn't seem to have any intention of moving, and she didn't ask him to stop, so he ran his fingers further down her back, traced the dip at the base of her spine, shoved her scrunched up dress down her legs, where she kicked it away. She was fully naked now.

"Still okay?" he asked. He wanted to go slow, but this was ridiculous. If one of them didn't make a move, the morning would come before they did.

She nodded.

"Got any plans while you're up there?"

She shook her head. He snorted. "Mind if I take over, then?"

She looked up at him, then, indecision in her eyes before resolution replaced it and she kissed him. Taking that as assent, he cupped the back of her head, hooked his legs around hers, and flipped them so that she was pressed back into the bed and he was on top, straddling her waist.

She gasped, and he let her up for air, grinning at her.

"You need to train more, Rangiku. You lack stamina."

She smacked his arm. "Shut up. I've been training a lot since you've been gone! You won't even believe how much stronger I've grown! I bet I'm almost to bankai by now!"

His eyebrow quirked. "That so? We'll have to spar soon, then."

He didn't wait for her to respond, but kissed a trail down her belly, then down the outside of her long, long legs, stroking her calves, massaging her feet, and finally running his thumbs up the inside of her thighs, slowly approaching the folds between them.

* * *

Her prior experiences hadn't prepared her for this. She'd been touched before, but normally it was tits, ass, fuck, with a little cock-sucking thrown into the mix. Not this . . . gentle exploration and mastery of her body.

"Toushirou," she moaned, unable to stop herself.

"If you keep saying my name, I'm going to make you scream it."

When did he get so bold? He was in the power position now, though, so she should have expected it. She tried not to tense up as she waited for him to rise above her, thrust inside. But he remained where he was, tracing circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

All she could see were the tufts of his hair. He was so short! She giggled, playing with the silky strands, until he did something that made her gasp. Then he was the one laughing.

"Like that?" he teased, circling her clit with his finger again. She wasn't an idiot, or an innocent—she knew what that spot did, what it was for. The only satisfaction she'd had in her sexual life had come from manipulating that little gland. But she'd never had a man do it. She'd never had another person touch her there, never felt the thrill of not only the physical pleasure, but the pure adrenaline rush of not knowing what was going to happen, when he was going to touch or where he was going to touch or how quickly, how firmly. It was ecstasy and it was torment and it was her _taichou_ doing it to her. She writhed as he stroked her, over and over again, and then the pressure disappeared and she wanted to cry, but it was back again. Only hotter, wetter, more friction, more pressure, just more. Was that . . . his _tongue_? She screamed, every cell in her body focused on that one little bundle of nerves, every muscle tensing as she approached that cliff, the one she had only ever fallen off of alone. As she was there, right on the edge, staring down into the abyss, ready to fall, his fingers tangled with hers, his thumb caressing her palm. Then lips joined the tongue wrapped around her clit. He sucked, softly, and she was lost. Gone, done, over the edge, shouting his name as waves of ecstasy rippled out from her epicenter. Heat engulfed her. Lights flashed behind her eyes and the world shifted and she was fairly sure she had died. And all the while, his hand gripped hers, grounding her.

When she came back to herself, he was still lapping at her, only he had moved away from her clit—it was too sensitive, too raw, too much now. Instead he licked at her opening, slid two fingers inside, rubbing, stroking, and she trembled anew at the difference in feeling. It was deeper. Less intense, but more fundamental. She'd never felt so _female_ before.

"Toushirou," she whispered, stroking his cheek. He crawled up her body, kissing her, sharing her taste, cursing as he had to slip his fingers out of her just to reach her mouth. She moaned, too, at the loss, but chuckled. He really did need to grow more. He growled, seeming to know her thoughts, and she was laughing in earnest, hugging him tight to her, loving how giving and sweet and incredible he was. She'd never laughed before, during. What was it he'd said this was supposed to be? Fun? Maybe it was.

She shifted, and he groaned, and she realized she was ahead of him. This part was more than a little nerve-wracking, but it was only fair. So she traced the thick, ropy muscles of his chest down to the finer, more defined grooves of his abdomen. He wrinkled his nose, ticklish, and she wanted to hug the adorableness out of him. There was nothing cute about his eyes, though. They were all intensity as she finally found the waistline of his trousers, and started to undo the button and unzip them. She felt him, hot and hard, pulsing against her fingers on the other side of the cloth, and she lost her nerve. Toushirou rose above her, taking over the job and pushing the pants down lean hips before kicking them to the floor. She wanted to get her hands on that ass. It was perfect—tight, round, just the right size to fit perfectly in her palms. But first she had to deal with the slightly more, um, _pressing_ problem that had popped up between them.

She ran a finger over his rod, fascinated and slightly afraid of the part of a man she knew could cause so much pain. It wasn't overly long, but it was thick, and hard, and so hot to the touch she almost flinched away, like she had touched a hot stove instead of a living, breathing Shinigami male. She wrapped her fist around him and began to stroke, as she had been taught, shocked when he began to grow longer, right before her eyes. It seemed her earlier evaluation of his size wasn't quite accurate. Her thumb brushed the leaking, bulbous tip, and a strangled sound tore from his throat. He pulled her fingers away, and she looked up at him, afraid of what she'd done wrong.

"Too much," he explained at her questioning look. "I'm too close." She nodded, pretending like she understood, but she didn't. So what if he came? She had already. And even if he needed more time to recover than she did, she wasn't going anywhere.

But then he was stroking her breasts, licking her nipples, and she hardly noticed him shimmying around until she felt him, hot and heavy against her thigh. It was time. She tensed involuntarily, and heard him snort as once again the room spun and she was somehow above him, this time.

"Will you stop doing that?" she cried, smacking his chest.

He wrinkled his nose. "What? You have to be on top."

She hadn't been before. He'd taken her every other way, including from behind, if she remembered right, but she didn't say that. "Why?" she asked instead.

"You're too tall for me. Otherwise all I can see are these," he said, cupping her breasts. She leaned into the caress. "And, beautiful as they are, I want to see your face."

"Oh." She grinned. "You're just too short!"

He circled his hips, grinding against her. "Not everywhere." Smug bastard. Ridiculously hot smug bastard.

"No, not everywhere," she acknowledged, stroking his length. He handed her a condom and leaned back as she rolled it on, letting her see how much he liked what she was doing. He hid nothing from her, and she loved it. To have this window into his soul when he was usually so stingy with his thoughts and feelings was . . . empowering, at the very least. More than that, it made her feel close to him, like they were in this adventure together. And wasn't that the corniest thing she'd ever thought. _It's just sex_, she told herself. _Stop romanticizing it_. But she couldn't help it. As she impaled herself on him, and he helped her, guiding her hips, and she felt the burning pressure of being filled to the brim, she wondered if it wasn't something more. Then he was rocking his hips, and she had no time to wonder anything, mesmerized by a sea of ocean blue and the thrust and drag of hot, delicious friction.

"Toushirou," she moaned, leaning down to kiss him as he played with her nipples, surged into her, drove her to new heights of need. And when she came this time, it was less intense than the first orgasm, but infinitely more satisfying. Because he was there, inside her, under her, all around her, hard and strong and steady for her to hold onto as the world fragmented and she burst into flames. "Taichou!" she screamed, clamping down on him, hearing him shout her name in turn as the vice-lock of her inner muscles forced him over the edge as well. And if tears rolled down her cheeks as her body convulsed from the aftershocks, well, it was just that intimate.

She slumped onto his chest afterward, fingers twitching, gasping for breath, burying her face in his neck and loving the feel of her taichou still inside her until he finally softened, sliding out, and rolled them onto their sides. He moved as if to pull away, and she just held on tighter, sobbing now, as the fear and nerves and memories slipped away and all she could think about was how beautiful it all was, and how real, and how she'd never ask for anything again if she could just have him.

* * *

He held her as she cried herself to sleep. Long after she'd fallen into dreamworld, he tortured himself with the memory of her tears. Somehow, some way, despite his efforts to be gentle and careful and _present_, he'd hurt her even worse this time. In over twenty years, he'd never seen her cry like that. Not even over Gin.

"Rangiku," he whispered, just to hear her name. Just to feel it on his lips. But that was worse, because it was fleeting. There and then gone, like him, like her, like them. It was all gone: their past, their present, any future they could have had as a plural. Forever more there would be her and there would be him, but they would never be a unit again.

All because he wasn't worthy of that pedestal she put him on. He could have told her that, he could have told all of them that, but they never listened. They saw him as a child, a captain, a hero, an innocent, a million different things, but never a _man_, with faults and fears and desires and demons to fight and temptations he just couldn't conquer. He tried his best, but he was just a man, and sometimes it was too hard to try any more. If he had just been normal, it wouldn't have mattered, the world would have gone on as it always did, and no one would have cared. But as the curse of being "gifted," his mistakes always ended in tragedy.

"Who am I, any more?" he asked himself, carding his fingers through his hair. She'd been so terrified of being pregnant, of being tied to him. So happy when she found out she was free.

And he'd been devastated. He'd longed for that tie, hoped for it. Hoped for her misery. And then he'd listened to her stupid plan, taken advantage of her in an emotional state, made her cry and regret _again_. But never again. She deserved better than him, better than his selfish, stupid weakness. And if she couldn't realize it on her own, he'd force her to.

He glared down at the woman still sleeping in her bed. "I love you."

This was so like him. Not to realize how valuable she was until he'd broken her.

In the end, he was the one shattered.

* * *

**A/N (Reprise):**

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Mmmm, taichou," Rangiku moaned, rolling over into his arms. Or she tried to, at least.

But he was gone. His clothing missing, his side of the bed cold, no note or anything. He'd left her again.

She threw her clothes on, intent on racing after him, no matter his head start.

The hell-butterfly stopped her.

_Matsumoto-fukutaichou, you have been reassigned. Finish your current projects. As of the end of next week, you will report to Ukitake-taichou as fukutaichou of the Thirteenth Division._

The world didn't end. She didn't faint, or stop breathing, or even bleed. Hell, it didn't even hurt, really, when her heart was ripped from her chest.

Mostly it was just cold, and empty, and terrifying.

Alone. She was finally totally and completely alone.

* * *

Hitsugaya sat on Kurosaki's rooftop, staring out at the midnight sky. He'd moved into one of the substitute's spare rooms, since the arrancars had taken over Urahara's place. Usually something about the quiet of the night, the twinkling of the stars, comforted him. It made him feel part of something bigger. Tonight it just made him feel empty.

He had no one. All his life, he'd been trying to get there, to push others away. He'd left his granny, killed Momo, and now he'd finally gotten rid of Matsumoto, too.

It was funny, the way he could feel his former fukutaichou's absence even though they would have been apart anyway. It was like a tiny thread that had always run between them had been severed, and he felt the loss of that connection like a physical void.

Nineteen years. She'd been his fukutaichou for nineteen years, only a heartbeat in their endless existence, and now that moment had passed. She was in line for bigger and better things, less paperwork, more social interaction, a taichou she could respect, a position equivalent in prestige. And Ukitake would finally get someone to keep his third seats in line. It was what was best for everyone involved.

Except him.

"Never figured you for a star-crossed lover," Grimmjow taunted, coming up behind him.

Hitsugaya tensed. He'd noticed the former Espada's reiatsu—wasn't far enough gone to miss _that_. But he'd hoped the arrancar had enough sense to let sleeping dogs lie. "What do you want?" he snapped.

"Lookin' fer the strawberry. You seen him?"

"It's the middle of the night. He's probably asleep."

The arrancar flashed his feral grin. "Damn. Nothing like a good fight before bed." He looked Hitsugaya up and down. "S'pose you'd do just as well."

Hitsugaya started to reject out of hand, but stopped himself. "You're on."

Better to wear himself out than dwell on his regrets.

* * *

Rangiku wasn't sure she could keep going like this. Four days. Four days without a word from him. Not a note, not a letter, not even a butterfly to tell her he'd made a mistake, he didn't mean it. He wasn't throwing her away, he wasn't done with her yet. Part of her was still waiting, still sure that he couldn't throw away a twenty-year partnership because . . . because, why? Because she was bad in bed? Because he'd never wanted to sleep with her again in the first place? Because twice with her was enough for any man, or he'd lost respect for her, or whatever it was that had him running from her bed at three in the morning, leaving her nothing but a spent condom and a slap in the face.

She wasn't afraid of him any more. But that didn't mean the nightmares, the flashbacks, the phantom touches were just _gone_. No, she didn't have that kind of luck. Instead her heart jumped to her throat every time someone approached the office, and she wondered, despite the lack of familiar reiatsu, if it was finally him. Every night, she lay in bed, tossing and turning, aching, burning, unsatisfied, the feel of his breath on her skin so real she just wanted to close her eyes and live in that fantasy world, where he never left. Where he came home to her every night, where he held her in his arms and promised that he loved her. She could almost hear the words in his voice ringing in her ears. Odd, because he'd never said them.

She hadn't anticipated this. She'd hoped for the best, of course. Optimism did that to a person. But at the very least, she'd thought they could go back to the way things were before. Things might be awkward, or quiet for a while, but they would work it out. As long as they were together, they could work anything out. They were unshakeable, unbreakable, the ultimate team. She'd thought the only obstacle had been _her_. Her memories, her fears, her problems. She'd never made such a miscalculation.

Whatever was going on in his head, whatever had led him to . . . _desert_ her like this . . . she couldn't overcome it. She couldn't fight an enemy she didn't recognize and couldn't even see. Hide and seek. She'd never pegged him for such a coward.

Making love to her in her own bed, and then throwing her aside, leaving her with the memories, hadn't been enough. Kicking her out of his division, her home, hadn't been enough. He'd done all of it and then he'd run away, to someplace he knew she couldn't follow. Such an awful, ugly, stinking coward.

_I don't need you, Toushirou. I'll be just fine on my own._

If she could just make herself believe it.

* * *

"Watch your aim! Damnit!" Toushirou shouted, throwing out a quick kidou spell of his own to divert Kurosaki's and keep it from killing an innocent little duck that happened to be sitting _six feet away from the target_! "Focus, Kurosaki!"

"That's easier to do when you're not screaming at me, kid! I've come a long way! At least they're not exploding any more, like Renji's! So just 'cause you're pissed about something else, don't take your anger out on me!"

Underneath the haze of anger and frustration, Toushirou knew it was true. This was only their first training session, and Kurosaki had already improved dramatically. It was just that he'd _started_ so low. He could triple his level of skill and still be incompetent.

"I am not _pissed_, as you so eloquently stated, and I am not now, nor have I ever been, a _kid_!"

Kurosaki stared at him in silence for a moment. Then burst into laughter. "Do you even know what you're saying any more?"

"Shut up!" he snapped, crossing his arms to take away from his blush. "You know what I meant! Now try it again, and get it right this time!"

Kurosaki was too busy rolling around on the floor to hear him.

Then they both stiffened, sharing a look as the distinctive reiatsu rolled over them. Arrancar. And not the ally-kind, either.

Toushirou shunpoed, following the reiatsu to its source, the park on the other side of town. He felt Kurosaki right beside him and grimaced. He liked the kid, he could admit that now—if only in his own head. But it had been years since he'd gone into battle without someone he trusted implicitly at his back, and while he had major respect for Kurosaki's skills, he just didn't know about his judgment. Ichigo was a wildcard, as apt to jump in front of Toushirou's sword as he was to lash out blindly at the enemy, leaving Toushirou's back wide open when he needed support the most.

If there were other things he missed about his fukutaichou, well, he told himself they didn't matter. Only battle mattered, only training, only being a strong leader.

Only kicking arrancar ass.

But not killing them. They were only three privarónes—not really a danger to four taichou-level and two fukutaichou-level Shinigami, three weapon-wielding superhumans, and two very, very pissed former Espada. So he let Kurosaki get some extra on-the-spot practice with his bakudou (hey, if he killed one by mistake, no big loss), and they brought the lot in for questioning.

Toushirou was fairly sure Urahara had ways of making them talk that he didn't want to know about. And if not, they could just let Grimmjow kick the shit out of them. After all, it made the former Sexta so happy.

While the interrogators were working their magic, Toushirou dragged Kurosaki back to the practice field. "Hit the target this time!" he demanded, checking his watch. "And do it quickly; I'm meeting your sister for a soccer match in twenty minutes."

If he drove everyone into the ground, including himself, well, he wouldn't have any time to regret, would he? It didn't matter if your heart was bleeding if you never checked the wound.

* * *

Rangiku almost ran out and jumped into bed with another man. Shuuhei was definitely offering. Had it been a year or two ago, she might have taken him up on it. But now, she not only knew that sex didn't have to be uncomfortable, but she was also sure about her feelings for Toushirou. That night between them had been . . . explosive. Mindblowing. Something precious worth preserving and working toward again. So until (and unless) she found someone else she could have that intensity of feeling for, who would take that level of care with her, she didn't want to ruin the memory. No more cheap, dirty fumbling in the dark. No more suffering through groping hands and insensitive words just to feel beautiful, just to feel wanted. She was worth more than that. Maybe not worth staying with, having a true relationship with, but worth friendly, fun, eyes-wide-open sex. He'd taught her that.

He'd also made her body sing, every nerve in her body race with pleasure. He'd imprinted himself on her, and she couldn't close her eyes at night without feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin, exciting her, teasing her, bringing her so close to that illusive peak. And then leaving her there. Desperate, wanting, unable to get relief. Tossing, turning, burning up in her own personal hell. She hadn't had more than a couple hours of sleep since he'd left. This was worse than the nightmares, because at least then she'd known they would fade in time. This was constant, keeping her awake at night until she was blurry-eyed and muddle-headed and unable to concentrate even to train, even to _pack her office_ for the move to the Thirteenth. She even resorted to begging Nanao for help.

And so, on her second-to-last day as a member of the Tenth, Rangiku was cleaning out her desk (which mostly consisted of shoving things into a box at random), while Nanao went through the office closet Rangiku had forgotten even existed (and was pretty sure her taichou had too). They'd already found several dusty, smaller haori from Hitsugaya's first few years as taichou. He hadn't grown much over the years, but there was definitely a difference. She turned her back on those, though, telling Nanao to toss them and refusing to think twice about it. Holding on to the past brought them nowhere. _He_ hadn't considered their history when he'd thrown her out on her ears.

"Rangiku, what on earth do you keep in here?" Nanao snapped. "Look at this!"

She glanced up, yawning, her hazy brain making out what looked like a dress. "Oh, pack that, Nanao, I want to keep it," she mumbled, not even sure what it was.

"Ran! Are you kidding me? Come here!"

She rolled her eyes, stumbling over. Her limbs were like noodles. As she got closer, she winced, realizing that what was in Nanao's hands wasn't a dress, but a stack of seven or eight molding sake bottles. They must have been five years old at least. "Oops."

"Oops? If you're not going to take my help seriously—Ran!" Nanao gasped as Rangiku swayed on her feet. She would have crashed to the floor if her friend hadn't dropped the bottles to catch her. Unfortunately, that meant the bottles crashed to the floor instead.

"Damnit," Rangiku cursed as she eased over to lay back on the couch, glaring at the mess. "That'll take forever to clean up!"

Nanao was quiet for a minute, then sighed. "Ran-chan, you can't keep going like this. Your body needs sleep. You're going to really hurt yourself."

Rangiku tried to smile—she was pretty sure it came out more like a sneer. "You think I don't know that? What do you want me to do, Nanao? I'm trying! I took three of Unohana-taichou's sleeping pills last night."

"And?"

"Woke up three hours later. I can't take any more of them. I'm not going to poison myself just because he—" she broke off, holding back the sob threatening to choke her.

"Just because he _what_?" Nanao pushed, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to meet her eyes. "Just say it, already!"

"Just because he—just because I can't stop thinking about what happened," she switched. She would protect him no matter what. Even if he didn't give a damn about her any more—even if he never had.

Nanao turned away. "I can't help you if you won't let me in, Ran-chan."

She knew that. No one could help her. _Except him._

"And you can't stay like this. I'll have to report you to Ukitake-taichou. It's not safe for you to take over as fukutaichou of the Thirteenth in this condition. For Ukitake-taichou or for you."

More things she knew. She'd lost _him_, she'd lost her division, she'd lost herself, now she'd lose her status as a fukutaichou. There was nothing else to lose . . .

"There's only one solution," Nanao continued, in a tone that brooked no argument. "You have to confront him, and fix whatever it is that's keeping you up at night."

. . . except her pride.

She managed to get in a half hour nap, and she and Nanao finished packing and cleaning the office. Rangiku had been tempted to trash the place, to let her taichou know exactly how she felt about him and what he'd done, but she wouldn't stoop that low. She'd realized something in the time he'd been gone. This wasn't his fault. He'd never wanted to touch her again in the first place, but she'd begged him and forced the issue. If he couldn't handle it, it was probably because he could tell she wanted more and didn't know how to tell her he didn't. She didn't love his method; she was pretty sure some _hollow_ were kinder. But, well, this was on her. Her fault, her problem, her misery.

Why did her whole life keep falling apart? And why couldn't she find someone else to blame for it? Anger, finger-pointing, at least they would keep her from noticing the hole in her heart from being rejected yet again.

As evening broke and the stars came out to play, Rangiku wandered the halls of the division, knowing that it was impossible for her to get any real sleep that night. The next day would be her last as the fukutaichou of the Tenth. She'd never really thought the day would come. She didn't know what she was expecting; to grow old like the soutaichou and just keep fighting, to serve under Hitsugaya-taichou until she could no longer move and her spirit body disintegrated into reishi, only for her soul to be reborn in the living world, starting the cycle all over again. The Tenth was in her blood. She'd never been in any other division. Taichous had come and gone, and she had remained, until one taichou came that she never wanted to outlast. Well, she wouldn't. He would remain, she would be replaced, and the division would go on, just as strong as it had ever been. They would forget she'd ever been there.

Shaking her head, hoping to banish the bleak thoughts, Rangiku realized she had strolled into one of the remote hallways of the division. She'd only been there one other time, actually; when Hitsugaya had taken her home from that bar and, well, _taken_ her. His rooms were the only thing down this way. She looked both ways, knowing no one would be around, but unable to resist. People looked around before they did something they weren't supposed to do; it was just how it worked. Satisfied she was alone, she jimmied the lock on his door and slipped inside.

The place had an air of disuse. It was to be expected, she thought, after he'd been away for over a month already. Neat, though. Meticulous in its organization, nothing out of place, and yet it still managed to avoid that stifling, formal feeling. It was comfortable, welcoming. Peaceful. And under the dust, it smelled like him.

She curled up on his couch, pulling one of his spare haori over her as a (somewhat short) blanket, and slept.

It wasn't a full night. Hell, it wasn't more than two hours before she woke up, gasping, burning, needy and unfulfilled. But for those two hours, finally, she was at peace.

Nanao was right. This couldn't continue.

* * *

Toushirou paced around the room he'd claimed as his, trying not to stare out the window. At the sky, of course. The rain that was coming down in droves had driven him inside, but not even its rhythmic drone and the accompanying scent of wet earth and ozone could calm the thoughts whizzing around in his head.

And so he did push-ups. And sit ups. He ran in place, he meditated, he outlined the next month's kidou lessons for Kurosaki, he wrote a draft letter to the soutaichou explaining his assessment and plan for the substitute's future. And then he mapped out the advance team's patrols and planned a strategy for driving Yammy out into the open. If he worked himself until he passed out, there'd be no time to think.

It was a pretty good strategy so far. He'd never been so efficient. He had a thirty page plan of training drills to try out on his division when he returned, he'd played six games of soccer with Kurosaki's sister, and Kurosaki's kidou was almost as good as most new recruits'. And, well, if he was driving everyone crazy barking out orders and snapping all the time, it was all for the better. Kurosaki and crew needed some discipline, and they certainly weren't going to get it from Urahara. And as for the arrancar, well . . . the more pissed Grimmjow got, the better their sparring sessions. Toushirou's bankai was already lasting a few minutes longer. It was all for the best.

Yep, ruining his life was the best thing he'd ever done.

On his twenty-third rep of one-armed push-ups, Toushirou felt a trickle of awareness, the forewarning of something or someone he couldn't quite place, and then he sensed her. He made it from his room to the back door in one step.

She was waiting for him outside the door. She knelt formally, back straight, head down, eyes trained on the ground. Humble. Meek. Unfamiliar. Soaking wet, as the rain poured down in torrents.

"Matsumoto! What are you doing here?" She wasn't supposed to be there. She was supposed to go work for Ukitake, to go on with life, to move on, to hang out with Nanao and have light in her life and not be dragged down by a taichou who couldn't be trusted to keep his hands off her or her happiness in mind. She was supposed to be saved.

"Taichou, I—"

"I'm not your taichou," he snapped brutally, ruthlessly. Rip the band-aid off. Neat, clean, virtually painless.

Her eyes lifted, and his heart clenched at the sight of tear-drenched blue. She wasn't supposed to hurt like this.

"You are." Her voice was low, dark, elemental. "Right now, you still are. I know you don't want me and you can't wait to be rid of me, but for three more hours I still belong to you and you broke me so you are going to fucking fix it, Hitsugaya Toushirou!"

"Wha—?"

"It worked, okay! We slept together again and it was incredible and now when I close my eyes all I think of is you and it's good instead of bad, except it's _too_ good and I haven't slept in a week and a half and all I feel is feverish and achy and like I'll die if you don't touch me but you're not there and so I just die over and over again! And I _know_ you don't love me and you don't want me and you probably don't even care, but you're a good man, Toushirou, so you're going to do this, just this once so I can function again. Because you're _still_ my taichou, and you're _still_ responsible for me, and you know, you _know_ that I have enough pride that I wouldn't be here begging you like this if there was any other way! I—"

"You deserve better than me," he interjected, desperate, horrified, resolution slipping through his fingers.

"I know. But I don't _want_ better than you. I need _you_!"

Tears slid down her cheeks and his resolve shattered on the floor. "Don't cry, Rangiku. You have me."

"Then touch me!"

He pulled her into his arms, wiped her tears away. And then he snuck her up to his room and he made love to her. Again. He was quicker this time, but no less sweet and tender. He'd seen her scars firsthand, created some of them. There was no way in hell he was going to cut them open now.

Knowing he was only allowed three mistakes, and that this was the fourth. Knowing he was damned.

And feeling guilty for thinking about himself when it was her he kept on hurting.

This time, when he woke up, _she_ was gone.

* * *

**A/N:**

I've been thinking of this story as sort of a modern fairytale. There's no magic or fairy godmothers or princes and peasants, but it's kind of a classic tale of love and romance set in a modern and very imperfect world, where sex comes before love and happily-ever-afters give way to better-than-nothings. I hope you can see the romance in the unromantic and the beauty in the contrast. And if you have no idea what I'm talking about now, but start to see it as things progress, let me know. I'm really interested to see how much of the intent shines through. Anyway, please review! I can't believe this story has now topped 50 reviews—you guys rock!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Rangiku was late to her first day as fukutaichou of the Thirteenth, because . . . she overslept. Hours upon hours of deep, dream-free, blissful sleep.

If she were going to be honest, the whole night had been blissful. He'd been so kind. Taking her hand to help her up the stairs, casting a kidou barrier around his room so no one would hear them, drying her off and warming her up before taking her to bed and showing her all those memories weren't an exaggeration. Shudders and moans intermixed with chuckles and smiles and . . . connection. She didn't feel like a plaything with Toushirou. When she'd had sex with men before, she'd felt like just a body, like everything else about her was superfluous. Not with Toushirou. It wasn't like they spoke during, really, but something about the way he stared into her eyes, the way his hands skimmed over her skin told her he knew it was _her_ he was touching, her he was kissing, her he had gasping, writhing, begging for more, strung out and desperate and finally fully _alive_.

He didn't have to be kind. He could have slammed the door in her face, could have told her to get lost, could have treated her like a slut or given a perfunctory performance and sent her on her way, but he hadn't. It didn't make up for the way he'd left, but it was something.

She'd snuck back to Soul Society as soon as he fell asleep, returned to her rooms, and crashed the moment her head hit the pillow. She hadn't set an alarm because, well, duh, when you only slept an hour or two at a time, there was no need.

Oops.

So now she was late, crawling to her new taichou's office, ready to throw herself at his feet and hope that he decided not to fire her before she'd even begun. But at least, for once, the fog in her head was gone and her mind was completely clear.

Sex with Toushirou really was the best medicine. "They should bottle that shit," she muttered.

"What?"

Rangiku jumped, spinning around to see Kiyone flash her a strange look.

"N-nothing. Is Juushirou—I mean Ukitake-taichou—in his office?"

The younger girl nodded and pointed her in the right direction. Rangiku knocked before entering, then hesitated as she wondered whether she should kneel. She'd noticed that the Thirteenth squad tended to kneel to their taichou a lot, but it wasn't something she was used to doing. Toushirou had always tried to break new recruits of that habit, and besides, Juushirou was her _friend_. Someone she'd gotten drunk with more times than she could count. Bowing and scraping would just be . . . weird. Demeaning, even.

Then she remembered she'd knelt to Toushirou just the night before. She'd begged him—_begged_ him to have sex with her. There wasn't really anything more demeaning than that. But he was different. _That_ was different. And it was never going to happen again.

She wouldn't kneel.

Her new taichou was sitting at his desk, reviewing reports. "Sorry I'm late, Ukitake-taichou!" she burst out, bowing her head when he looked up at her. "I've been having trouble sleeping, and I think it all caught up with me!"

She waited for him to yell and rage or, worse yet, tell her how disappointed he was in her. Or maybe he would just sigh and tell her not to bother coming in tomorrow at all. But he didn't respond.

She glanced up and saw the quizzical expression on his face. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better, Rangiku," he said finally, looking concerned. A lock of snow white hair fell into his eyes, and she fought not to wince. He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. "I'd actually forgotten you were coming in today. To be honest, I haven't had a fukutaichou in so long, I don't really remember what they do."

_Huh?_ Rangiku gaped at him. "U-um—" Was he serious?

"Why don't you take the rest of the day to get settled in your new quarters, and then you can spend the next few days tailing Sentarou and Kiyone and meeting the squad. And . . . training?" he suggested, looking as lost as she felt.

Great. So much for being needed. She thanked him walked toward the door.

"And oh, Rangiku!" he called after her.

She twisted around, hanging on his next word. "Yes, Ukitake-taichou?"

He paused. "You can still call me Juu-kun, you know."

Her face fell. "Okay. Juu-kun. Did you have something else to tell me?" she asked dully.

He grinned, and pulled a giant bottle of sake out of his sleeve. "Welcome to the Thirteenth!"

She threw him a weak smile, took the gift, and trudged out of the room.

She had everything she'd ever wanted. Whoopie.

* * *

He hadn't anticipated it, but Hitsugaya wasn't exactly surprised, either.

Just taking off in the middle of the night hadn't been his best move, and it certainly hadn't been the best way to end things with Rangiku. His only excuse was that he had panicked and been unable to face the accusation and regret in her eyes when she woke and realized what a mistake he had been.

So her need for closure wasn't exactly revolutionary. It was just post-breakup sex. One last goodbye, nothing more.

Except there could be no breakup because there'd been no relationship. Except for him, one last time wasn't enough. All the time in the world wouldn't be enough. He was glad she'd been the one to leave this time, because he didn't have the strength to walk away again. Except this wasn't about him—if it was, there never would have been a goodbye—this was for her, because she deserved better.

And maybe if he repeated that mantra to himself a thousand times a day, it might keep him from latching onto her the next time he saw her and never letting go.

She was gone, truly gone, with no reason to come back this time. Hitsugaya doubled over as agony exploded in his chest. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything but feel this pain and know it was all over. He'd only felt this way one other time in his life.

And deep inside, he felt the darkness start to unfurl. _No!_

"Ah, Toushirou, there you are."

_No. Run, Kurosaki. Get away from here_. "How many times do I have to tell you, it's _Hitsugaya-taichou_?" he thundered as he straightened and turned around. Half conscious, half consumed by the darkness, both halves needing to push the substitute away.

"Oh. S-sorry," Ichigo muttered, shrugging his shoulders. He was obviously hurt, and Hitsugaya knew it was because he hadn't demanded to be called by his name in weeks, and he'd never been that harsh about it.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I, uh, just came to tell you that one of the privarónes finally cracked. We're all meeting at Urahara's shop for debriefing."

Hitsugaya didn't respond, he just shunpoed away.

When he arrived at the shop, he saw that most everyone was already sitting around the table sipping their tea. Urahara stood off to the side by a bound, miserable-looking privarón. Grimmjow kicked the captive in the gut as he walked by, and the shopkeeper chided him in an amused tone.

"No need to be so rough, kitty-cat-san. He's already cooperating."

"Che," was his reply. "He's a weakling. Real warriors never talk."

Hitsugaya bit his tongue. Literally.

Ichigo strode in a moment later. "That was pretty rude, you know—" he broke off at Hitsugaya's glare.

He tried to temper it, tried to rein his rage in, but the darkness had already broken free. He was officially out of control.

"Well, Urahara? Why are we here?" he demanded.

The shopkeeper looked unsettled, and then calculating, at the sharpness in his voice. "So glad you asked," he replied. "Our _friend_ over here has graciously decided to avail himself of our hospitality and ingratiate himself into our goodwill."

"Less flare, more substance," Hitsugaya ground out.

Urahara shrugged. "The prisoner talked." He didn't seem inclined to say any more than that.

"And . . . ."

"I'll let him tell you himself." He ripped the tape off of the arrancar's mouth.

It coughed before beginning, "Yammy-sama's looking—"

"Yammy-_what_? Since when is _Yammy_ your master, you bastard?" Grimmjow growled, looming over the captive.

The privarón shrunk away. "S-sorry, Grimmjow-sama! It's just that, Yammy-sa—Yammy promised us all the weak hollow we could eat, and you were _starving_ us trying to make _them_ stronger!"

Grimmjow cursed. "Idiot arrancar don't know what's best for themselves!" he griped, sinking back into his seat. "They'd rather gorge themselves than have an army."

"Well, you were eating the army too, Grimmy!"

"Shut up, Nel!"

"You shut up!"

"I said, shut up!"

Hitsugaya couldn't take it any more. His reiatsu flared up, the arrancar fell silent, and everyone shivered as a frost settled on every available surface. He could tell his power was wild, knew he was making the others uncomfortable, but he couldn't find his center, couldn't pull out the calm he usually took for granted. He gripped Hyourinmaru's hilt in desperation, and the pressure eased, the darkness crept back into its box and he triple-locked the door on that part of himself. Relief. Control restored, he dropped his reiatsu to normal levels and sent the dragon a million silent thank-yous. He might have hurt everyone who mattered to him and lost them in the process, but he still had Hyourinmaru. He would always have Hyourinmaru.

A chill ran up his spine, and if he weren't so practical he might have thought his zanpaktou was trying to reassure him.

He opened his eyes to see the whole team staring at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, blushing at his rookie-like lack of control. "Little off today."

Nel broke the shocked silence in the room as she crawled into his lap. "That's ok. Nel's sorry she was a dis-cracked-shun." Hitsugaya couldn't help but smirk.

"Distraction," Rukia corrected softly, motioning for the girl to come to her and leave the taichou alone.

He shook his head. "She's fine." He rested a hand on the tiny arrancar's head and signaled that he was ready to continue.

Urahara prodded the privarón.

"Like I was saying, Yammy-sa—" he broke off, glancing at Grimmjow, who was still glaring. "Yammy's looking all over the living world for a bunch of human kids."

"We already know that," Grimmjow snapped, cracking his knuckles. "If you don't have any _news_ for us—"

"The kids he's looking for are the reincarnations of the Espada!" the arrancar shrieked, cowering.

Hitsugaya's mouth dropped open, and Ichigo looked similarly flabbergasted.

"Well, shit!" Orihime slapped a hand over her mouth, blushing. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"That about sums it up," Yoruichi broke in. "We almost lost fighting them once, what are we going to do if he reforms the Espada?"

"With a bunch of _kids_?" Ichigo asked. "What can he do with a bunch of two-year-olds?"

"At least we know why he's looking for kids that young," Rukia said. "I was really worried he was eating them or something."

"He'll probably wait until they grow up, Kurosaki!" Ishida snapped at the same time.

"But why would he appear here?" Chad asked slowly. They all shut up and listened as the usually quiet teen spoke. "If these kids were reborn all over the world, why would he keep invading Karakura? You would think he wouldn't want us to notice until his plan was complete."

No one had an answer for him.

Hitsugaya didn't think it was quite that simple, but he lost his line of thought as he noticed something odd. "Grimmjow, what are you smiling about?"

The former Espada snickered, and then let loose a full-force creepy laugh. "Nothing," he croaked out, shoulders heaving.

"Explain yourself!" Ishida demanded.

But Grimmjow just fell backwards, laughing harder.

Hitsugaya felt his lap vibrating as Nel giggled too. "Yammy always was the dumbest of us!"

Neither Espada would explain what they meant.

* * *

If someone had asked Rangiku a few days ago if being the fukutaichou of a different division would be, well, _different_, she would have laughed. A fukutaichou position was a fukutaichou position, right?

Wrong. It was completely different. And she hated it.

"Nanao, I'm so bored!" she burst out, taking another swig from her sake cup. She'd finally made dragging her best friend to the bar a weeknight routine. Sure, the teetotaler only drank tea, but at least Rangiku didn't have to drink alone—she couldn't very well moan about her job to Shunsui any more. "Juushirou does all his own paperwork, and his third seats, as annoying and incompetent as they seem, have everything else running like a well-oiled machine. I have nothing to do! I can come in late and drink all day, and no one even cares. They just thank me for my hard work! I'm redundant!" she screeched, sobbing into her arms.

It confirmed that she had been transferred not because the Thirteenth needed her, but because Toushirou didn't want her any more.

"Give it time," Nanao told her, patting Rangiku's back and rolling her eyes at the same time. "You'll find your place."

No, she wouldn't. She didn't have one.

Not any more.

* * *

Rangiku's respite from insomnia only lasted so long. After three days, the dreams came back. Vivid snatches of memory and fantasy blended together until she couldn't tell one from the other, and just as her every muscle clenched and she approached that elusive peak, she awoke, gasping, mind racing and skin tight and body horribly, painfully empty.

It was the need that drove her to madness. She tried everything—reading the dictionary, doing paperwork, soothing the ache herself, but none of it worked. She could bore herself to tears, but not to sleep. She could bring herself to peak after peak, but the need only grew. And so she raged and she wept and she lay awake. And by the weekend, she was a wreck again. Tired, needy, aching, desperate. Deja vu.

But more than that, she was lost. Thirteen wasn't Ten, and Ukitake wasn't Toushirou.

She tried to pretend she wasn't in love with a man who didn't want her. She was just _used_ to him, that was all. Before these months apart, hardly a day went by where she didn't touch him, didn't hear his voice, didn't annoy him into screaming her name and feel that little clutch inside her when she saw the affection warring with frustration in his eyes, and God, she was back to being in love with him again. He was too much a part of her, too essential to be the one that got away or, let's face it, the one she never had. It wasn't her division she missed, or the office, or her old room, or even her former subordinates—it was him. Hitsugaya Toushirou was her home.

So she lied to herself. And on her day off, she snuck off to the Living World, thinking if she could just see him, just hear his voice, just lean back against him and feel him solidly there, the world would stop reeling and her head would stop spinning and maybe she could be _found_ again.

She'd lost herself in him and now she was losing herself in the want of him. Was there any of her backbone left at all?

She stepped through the senkaimon outside of the Kurosaki Clinic, and she felt it again. She'd dismissed it the first time as a fluke, but the moment she entered Toushirou's vicinity, it was like an invisible cord snapped into place. She could almost hear it thrum, feel the vibration. Like a missing piece of her reiatsu returned and she could be whole again.

She didn't flare her reiatsu. She didn't want Ichigo or anyone else to notice. Besides, she knew her mere presence was enough. He would feel her. They were that attuned to each other after all these years. He opened the door within moments.

God, he looked good. Strong and serious and everything that was right with the world.

"Tai—Toushirou," she stuttered, steeling herself, wondering how he was going to take her calling him by his first name.

"Rangiku." In stride, apparently.

She flung herself at his feet, buried her face into his stomach and held on for dear life. Like a teddy bear except better because he was real and made of battle-hardened muscle instead of cotton and fluff. He didn't sputter or try to pull away like she'd expected. Instead he placed one small, yet surprisingly heavy, hand on her head and sighed. And she cried. Whether it was out of relief or desperation, she didn't know, and he didn't ask.

She wouldn't beg him to sleep with her. She wouldn't.

She just wanted to hold on a little longer or maybe forever, but definitely until his scent and the chill of his reiatsu stopped making her so God damned happy.

She let out a sob and his fingers tightened in her hair. She looked up, and it was probably her imagination, but she thought she saw her desperation reflected in his eyes. His reiatsu took on a wild edge as it caressed her skin. He clasped her hand and tugged her to her feet, and they went up to his room just like before.

She just wanted to be near him, to bask in his presence a little longer, and did that sound like worship, because she didn't mean it to. It was them, together, that she worshipped, not him. She just needed to touch him—anything else was secondary.

But they had sex, because that was what they knew how to do.

Not that she was complaining.

It was agony and it was ecstasy and it was what fantasies were made of except it was real. He kissed her neck while she ran her fingers through his hair—as always, thrilled that he allowed her to. He looked so good in modern clothing, but he looked even better out of it.

There was kissing and touching and care—so much care—and then thrusting and dragging and panting and begging and moaning and coming and pleasure more like pain than anything else. And as they were coming down from that high her eyes slipped into his, and she held her breath at the intimacy.

He moved as if to get up, and she started to as well, figuring he wasn't going to sleep this time, so she might as well leave now. Awkward, yes, but she couldn't stand to be in his way. She pulled herself to her feet to search for her uniform.

His hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Don't leave," he said, commanding as ever. And what could she do but obey?

As he went to the bathroom, she laid back down, strangely nervous. But he just came back, curled himself around her, pulled the covers up, and kissed the back of her neck.

His grip tightened with her every movement, as if he feared she would try to slip away. She certainly considered it; she couldn't see why he would care, and it would save them another awkward scene in the morning. But she leaned back into the wall of his chest, listened to the barely perceptible sound of him breathing, and she was just too content.

She should be ashamed for this weakness, but all she could feel was elation. Acceptance. She loved this man, she could finally admit that to herself—he was an incredible man, and it was okay to love him. He didn't love her back, didn't want her in his life, but he seemed to enjoy sleeping with her.

She couldn't have all of him, but he would give her this. And in love, one took what one could get. When need fought with shame, need always won.

She needed to breathe. And he was her air.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks for reading! Sorry it's been awhile; I've been trying to get healthier and make it to the gym more often (as in 5 days a week), and that's dramatically limiting my writing time. But I'm updating as fast as inspiration and my schedule allow, I promise! Please review-it really does help with the inspiration part! Seriously...I check my email like every five minutes the morning after I update, and sometimes I won't get up until I get a review...which often makes me late for work :-P Oh well.

Oh, and am I the only one who's actually liking this new filler arc? So much for starting off slow!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**

Okay, so this one's a lot of little scenes and a tiny bit of a time jump, but it doesn't feel choppy, at least to me. I hope you enjoy it, and please review!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

When Hitsugaya woke up, it was morning, and he almost panicked. He'd just meant to close his eyes for a moment while he savored the feel of her in his arms. He'd missed it.

But he hadn't, because she was still there. She'd twisted during the night, and now her face was scrunched up against his chest, her legs wrapped around his. She was drooling on him, and he didn't even care. She was _still there_.

_Hold it, Shiro_, he chided himself. _You can hold her 'til she wakes up, but then she has to go._ He fell back asleep waiting for that moment to come, and when he woke again, his arms were empty.

He indulged himself for a second, reliving the night. Trying to figure out what was going on. Once was post-breakup sex. Twice was . . . an anomaly? Or a pattern?

Rival factions warred within his brain, and he couldn't decide which option he preferred. For her sake it should be the first, but he wasn't perfect. There was only so much selflessness a non-saint could exhibit, and he was about at his max.

He wasn't strong enough to say no to heaven.

So when Rangiku appeared again a week later, his protest was halfhearted at best.

* * *

She returned again and again. Hitsugaya managed to procure his own apartment (by convincing Yamamoto of the benefits of a home base in Karakura), just so he wouldn't have to feel so icky about the Kurosakis being just few doors down. Then the time began to shorten between her visits until she was returning every three days, and each time he took less persuading until finally he was waiting for her, and just let her in when she arrived.

For good reason, too. The "therapy," bizarre and immoral as it was, seemed to be working. She was smiling again, the pinched look in her eyes only a memory. She even bubbled a bit, although her effervescence was only a fraction of what it had been. She was healing, and somehow sex with him was helping, and that's all that mattered.

That, and the way the sex was amazing. The way it was always as good, if not better than their second time. The way she screamed and clutched at him as she came, the way her body gripped his until he fairly exploded. The way she cuddled close to him afterward, and they slept in each others' arms—everything up until the moment he woke up and she was gone. And she was always gone. But she always returned, and the cycle would begin all over again, hot and sweet and agonizingly empty.

It was killing him. Taunting him with what he could have had, had he not been so selfish, had he been a better man, had he been even the slightest bit worthy of her. Because this was an illusion, a sham. A crutch. Eventually she would learn to walk again, _was_ learning how to walk, and pretty soon she wouldn't need him any more.

Beautiful things never last.

* * *

Rangiku didn't know who she was any more—and she didn't really care. She had Toushirou, and even if she lost herself and the world went to hell, that was enough. Every few days she had his hands on her body, his hardness inside her, his tender care afterward. They didn't say much, didn't talk at all really, but the connection that she needed like breathing was there. She was an addict and he was her crack. Their arrangement was fragile as a butterfly's wings, but it was stable.

Until the day he made her breakfast. It was about a month in to their arrangement, and she'd had a hard week. For lack of anything better to do, she'd started volunteering with training the new recruits, and they'd had her out in Rukongai all week running drills and minor missions, driving the recruits to their limits (and herself too). Needless to say, she'd been exhausted. Not enough to miss her "date" with her former taichou, but enough that she'd fallen out hard after, and slept much too soundly to wake up and slip out before he rose for the day.

When she awoke, the sunlight was streaming in through the blinds, tickling her nose and kissing her fingertips. She yawned and stretched, thinking idly of tea and wondering why she felt so refreshed.

"Morning."

She froze, and in horror movie slow-motion, looked over at Toushirou lying next to her in the bed. Apparently the sunlight hadn't been the only thing kissing her.

Shit. She felt the blood drain from her face, and then flood back as she took in his sleep-mussed hair and drowsy eyes. Did he always look like sex on legs?

He leaned over and kissed her. "Really? How long have we been doing this and you're embarrassed _now_?"

Panicked, actually, but she bit her tongue. Normally she would just bluster through it. But "Toushirou" wasn't quite as easy to sing-song as "Taichou," and there was too much riding on this. Change one thing, change it all—different was dangerous, and their relationship, whatever it was, was precarious enough.

So she kissed him back, just for a moment, and then played her trump card. "I should be getting back. Wouldn't want to be late!"

She went to get up, remembering just in time that she was naked and that that was part of what made the morning after so awkward. If she wrapped the sheet around her . . . but then she caught the challenge in his eyes. Fuck it. He'd seen it all already, and she'd never claimed to be modest. She stood up, baring herself to the room (and him), and began looking for her uniform.

He waited, watching, until she was halfway dressed. Then he snorted and rose, too, wrapping a gray yukata around his body and knotting it at the waist. She stared, mesmerized by the way the garment gaped, revealing glimpses of smooth tanned skin and rippling muscles as he moved.

"Since when have you ever cared about getting to work on time?"

Damn him for throwing her off kilter. He had her there, and he'd never believe Ukitake was stricter than him, it was too ridiculous for words.

"Well, I—" she floundered, turning away, wondering why he couldn't just ignore all of that and let her make a graceful exit. "I mean—"

"Ran—" he began, and she felt his eyes burning into the back of her head. She couldn't read his tone, and she couldn't let her own laziness ruin things between them.

The words burst from her unbidden. "Look, Toushirou. I've lived without you before and I don't want to do it again! So whatever you want to say—" she broke off, unable to continue, not even sure what she wanted to say, just anything to stop this from unravelling.

He filled in the silence. "I was just going to ask if you wanted breakfast."

"Oh." She turned back to him and her face blushed ten kinds of red. "Um, yeah. Thanks."

He nodded, eyes shining with an emotion she couldn't decipher. "I'll be in the kitchen, then."

"O-okay."

And the earth shifted again.

* * *

From that day on, Rangiku always stayed for breakfast. They still didn't say much, just nonsense about the weather and Ichigo's latest screw-ups. But there was a comfortable familiarity about it, and although she had no delusions that it would last forever, it was more than she'd expected.

She didn't know how any of them had ever considered him cold. He was so warm. His body heat, his quiet presence next to her, that hint of a smirk that was as close to a smile as she needed. His arms around her waist as they drifted off to slumber, the softness in his eyes when he woke up in the morning, still holding her.

She had him now. They had a routine developed, and she had him for nearly 12 hours every three days. Too much of that time was spent sleeping. None of it was spent worrying. She didn't worry when she was with him, she didn't think, she didn't do anything but lie next to him and enjoy the closeness between them. It wasn't until she left, until he was no longer in sight and she knew she was on her own for the next few days, that she would start to miss him and wonder if, when she returned, he would still welcome her with open arms. Or whether he would Move On. And then she would slip back to the living world, stand outside the door of the new apartment he had managed to obtain, and he would pull her inside and into his arms and all would be right with the world again. When she was touching him, the twitchiness in her soul, the itching in her skin, the growing sense of unease just melted away and she was at peace. It seemed to work just as well with their clothes on, too, proving it wasn't _sex_, per se, or desire, but just him. They needed to be together.

A few weeks later, she realized he felt it too, at least a little. She snuck away from her duties early that day and managed to surprise him. Sort of. He was sitting on the roof of his apartment building looking at his soul phone when she flashed herself behind him, but he didn't greet her or make any movement to indicate he'd noticed her. His shoulders were tense, hunched over, and the urge to massage the tension away gripped at her belly. But that might be too far, too close to their old interactions as taichou and fukutaichou, and what would she do if he snapped at her and told her to leave him alone like he would have back then? Snap in two, perhaps. So with the silent stealth of a feline, she settled herself on the roof behind him, and simply leaned her back against his.

His shoulders relaxed instantly. He snapped his phone shut, eased back into her, and just breathed. Not an inch of their bare skin was touching, it was just clothing to clothing, hair to hair. And yet she wouldn't have moved for the world, and he didn't seem inclined to either.

"Matsumoto," he said, sometime later.

"Stressed out, Toushirou?" she murmured back.

"You could say that."

She waffled for a moment. "Cup of tea?" she proposed.

Silence. "Yeah."

She took in the tightness of his jaw, the worry lines in his forehead. "And then you can tell me what's going on."

His eyes met hers, and the tinge of relief they held surprised her. "Sounds good."

They slipped through his apartment window and she reached for the kettle, but he shooed her away.

"I'll make the tea in my own apartment."

"But you always make breakfast. Tea can be my thing!" she suggested as she pumped a fist in the air, unreasonably excited about having a "thing."

He hesitated, then handed her the kettle. "If you insist. You make it better than I do, anyway."

She turned away before the grin split her face wide open. "That's because you measure the leaves."

"Getting the right leaf-to-water ratio is as vital as it is scientific," he lectured her, sitting down at the table.

"Yeah, and how's that working for you?"

Pause. "Okay, so my tea could be better."

"Toushirou, you make the worst tea in all of Soul Society! And I make the best!" she gloated, dancing around his kitchen with the leaves.

"Well, every woman ought to be able to cook something . . . and you certainly can't cook anything else," he grumbled under his breath.

"Tai—Toushirou!" Her slip-up took the wind out of her sails. She hadn't done that in a month at least, but bantering back and forth like this was too much like old times, and it made her too comfortable. "Sorry," she whispered.

He ignored her. "We're fighting with the arrancar again."

"I'd heard that."

She rolled her eyes at his shocked expression. "Word travels, you know, even around Soul Society. Besides, did you honestly think I couldn't sense two former Espada in town every time I came to visit?"

"I never really thought about it before."

"You _have_ been distracted! So tell me something I don't know."

"I guess you know that Yammy drove Grimmjow and Nel out of Hueco Mundo and is planning his revenge on the Seireitei?"

She nodded.

"He's tracking down the reincarnations of all the Espada."

She gasped. "To fight in his army? But Toushirou, they couldn't be more than two!"

He shrugged.

"Well, that's just sick!"

She set the tea down in front of him and joined him at the table.

He took his cup, but didn't drink from it, studying the pattern of leaves at the bottom. "Everyone assumed he would collect them and then wait for them to age."

"Everyone but you."

He nodded, even though it hadn't been a question. "Why would he let us on to his plan now if he couldn't implement it for years? Why bring the children here?"

"And Yammy doesn't seem patient enough for the whole long-term plan thing."

"Exactly."

"So what happened?" she asked. "You said 'assumed' like it's changed."

He bit his lip. "We ran into some of the Vizards tonight. They had the reincarnations of Halibel and Ulquiorra with them."

"What?"

"Hiyori said Shinji found them wandering around town."

"_You_ spoke to Hiyori? I thought she called you a bald pervert!"

"Focus!" he snapped through his blush. So cute.

"So they recovered them. That's good, right? What has you so spooked?"

"Shinji found their souls, Rangiku. They were already dead."

She stared at him in horror. "Yammy killed them and was letting them slowly turn into hollows? Did you bury them?"

"No." Tortured eyes met hers. "Ichigo wanted to, but they're the best lead we have now . . . and the best bait. So I stopped him."

She was around the table and hugging him before she took her next breath. "Oh, Toushirou. It's not your fault."

He didn't hug back, but neither did he push her away. "They don't remember anything. They're just scared little kids."

"Stop."

"Huh?"

"Do you want to change your mind?"

"No."

"Then just stop. Stop questioning yourself, and stop feeling guilty! You did what was best, even though it was hard. That's why you're a taichou, and that's why—" she broke off as he kissed her, but hardly a minute passed before she pulled back.

"What is it?" he asked, lacing his fingers in hers.

"There's something else that's getting to you."

"How—?"

"Don't seem so surprised. You think I don't know you by now? Spill."

"It's been bothering me for a while. Grimmjow and Nel were amused by Yammy's plan, and they wouldn't say why. They treated it like this big joke."

"Hmmm." She settled back on his lap to get into prime thinking position . . . and if that happened to overlap with prime cuddling position, well, it was just a coincidence.

They sat there drinking their tea for a moment. She played with his hair.

And then she gasped. "Toushirou!"

"What is it?"

"Rukia fought the Ninth Espada and said he looked like Kaien and had Kaien's memories, right?"

"Yes."

"And it _ate_ Kaien one hundred years ago in order for that to happen, right?"

"Yes."

"And hollow eat other hollow to get stronger, right?"

He smirked at her. "Right."

She snorted and snuggled deeper into his chest. "Then I understand why Grimmjow and Nel were laughing. Yammy really is an idiot!"

He held her until they both stopped chuckling.

"Rangiku?"

"Yeah?" She'd never heard him sound so hesitant.

"I missed this. Talking strategy, I mean." He didn't say "with you," but she understood anyway.

"Me too."

She had the sudden urge to share something with him too, to complete the moment. But she couldn't tell him about Ukitake—he could never know how useless she felt in the Thirteenth or how much she hated it.

"I started working with the new recruits about a month ago," she blurted out, wincing at how eager she sounded. He didn't want to know about things like that. She should have kept quiet.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Running training missions in Rukongai. You know, battling fake hollows and helping out the villagers after attacks. I—I really like it!"

"Really." He studied her face.

"What, no cracks about it cutting into my shopping time?" she snarked, feeling defensive at his utter lack of enthusiasm for the subject.

"I'm glad you've found something you want to apply yourself to." He paused. "Have you suffocated anyone yet?" he mocked, leering at her breasts.

She never thought she'd see the day when Hitsugaya Toushirou _leered_. And it wasn't her fault if she'd gotten a little too exuberant a few times and put a couple (okay, seven) of their new recruits in the Fourth for oxygen deprivation. "At least _I_ don't make them cry!"

"That was one time! And he deserved it," Hitsugaya added, his expression darkening.

"True." The guy had tried to grope Rangiku, after all. Her taichou had nearly frozen him in place. She didn't have the heart to tell him they all hit on her at first. But only once. Any guy who tried twice wouldn't live to tell the tale.

They lapsed into silence, and Rangiku's heart sank a little. She'd hoped he'd be a little more interested in what was happening in her life. On the bright side, at least they were talking. She opened her mouth to change the subject.

He spoke first. "I never thought I'd see you volunteering to do more work. What is it about the training missions you enjoy so much?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the curiosity in his voice. He really wanted to know.

"Well, since you asked," she began, then regaled him with a laundry list.

He listened through all of it, stroked her hair, asked questions, made fun of her answers.

And their arrangement changed again. Into what, she wasn't sure. She wasn't his fukutaichou any more. What they had was more than sex, but not quite a relationship. It was just _them_.

And she tried to be okay with that. She'd take as much of him as she could get. She knew she couldn't have everything. Guys like him didn't give everything to girls like her. It was her high expectations that had gotten her into trouble in the past. Toushirou was sweet when he was with her. Gentle and compassionate and accepting. It was enough.

Right?

If she'd known what was going to happen a week later, she would've been content with what she had. But hindsight always was 20/20.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The attack came out of nowhere. Toushirou and Rangiku were walking out of a restaurant when the reiatsu hit, a surge so potent it made even his head swim. Yammy.

He couldn't pop his gikongan before an arrancar's zanpaktou slashed him across the chest.

"Toushirou!" Rangiku screamed, rushing to his side.

He just snorted, glancing down at the tiny gash. It was no bigger than a paper cut—okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it wasn't very big at all.. He looked up at the hollow that'd attacked, a pint-sized perfect replica of Szayel Aporro-Grantz.

Ishida, who'd appeared across the street in time to see the attack, gaped at him. "What happened? Kurotsuchi-taichou almost died killing Szayel last time! How could his full attack leave only a scratch?"

Toushirou heard a cackle and glanced up to see Grimmjow leaning up against a signpost. Within seconds, the rest of the team arrived, surrounding him and Rangiku, staring up at Yammy, Szayel, and Nnoitra in the sky.

Grimmjow laughed again, drawing his sword. "That's not Szayel."

"What are you talking about?" Rukia demanded, settling into defensive position. "It looks exactly like him."

The former Sexta snarled. "Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving. Feel his reiatsu. Is that the same?"

"It's so much weaker!" Inoue gasped. "And it feels different, too."

Toushirou took pity on them as he popped his gikongan and drew Hyourinmaru. "It's a hollow version of Szayel's dominant soul, but it's not Szayel. Arrancar are nothing but amalgamations of other hollows. In the conversion from Menos to Adjuchas, one soul becomes dominant, but the power comes from all the souls combined. When an arrancar is killed, each of those souls is freed and sent back into the reincarnation cycle. So arrancar can't be remade, because you can never recreate the exact combination of souls. Too get strong again, that hollow would have to eat a million other hollow, and transform into a Menos, and then an adjuchas, and then a vasto lorde. And there's no telling that it wouldn't meet with a stronger soul that would become dominant, such that the ending vasto lorde would have an entirely different personality."

"Know-it-all," Grimmjow snorted. "The point is, Yammy's a dumbass, and his army is nothing but cannon fodder."

"Oh. Is that why they're so useless?" Yammy asked from his position high in the sky over Karakura town. "In that case," he trailed off, turning in the direction of Szayel and Nnoitra. He shot off a single cero, completely obliterating them both.

Toushirou tensed, rethinking his assumption that this was going to be an easy battle. Not even an idiot would demolish his own army, weak or not, without an ace in the hole.

Just as he thought it, a garganta opened. Through it burst a hundred or so Adjuchas. And one child-sized arrancar with coffee-colored skin and a bone visor over his eyes.

_Fuck._

He'd never considered that. A shinigami's powers came from his own soul and were as present in the reincarnation as they'd been in the original.

"Matsumoto!" he snapped, reverting to form.

"Hai, taichou!" He wasn't the only one.

"Can I leave this to you?"

She nodded. With that, he shunpoed to the perimeter. Urahara met him there.

* * *

They were everywhere. Every time Haineko took down one, two more seemed to pop up in its place.

Ishida was spewing countless arrows toward the Adjuchas, thinning out their numbers, and even Inoue was fighting, but they just kept coming.

Ichigo was battling Yammy, and Rukia and Renji had Tousen surrounded, dodging attacks from the child but not sending any back. Rangiku couldn't blame them. How were they supposed to fight children?

And where the hell was Toushirou? He'd been gone for nearly half an hour already, and Urahara was nowhere to be found, either. She couldn't even sense their reiatsu.

Just as she thought it, an icy wind swirled around her, bitter and comforting at the same time, because she knew that wind.

He appeared next to her in full bankai. "All right, Matsumoto?"

"Hai!" she replied, ignoring the gash in her shoulder and the slashes on her forearms—they were her own fault for letting the enemy get too close.

His eyes met hers, sheer determination frozen in aquamarine. "Get them out of the way."

She cocked her head, but he was gone, shooting into the air. "Kurosaki!" he snapped. "Fall back!"

Simultaneously, Urahara materialized at the other end of the battle, behind Renji and Rukia. Rangiku saw him yell something, but she couldn't hear it. As Renji and Rukia took two steps back, her haze lifted and she surged into motion, wrapping Haineko's ash around her like a shield and dragging Ishida, Chad, and Orihime away. The remaining hollow surged after them.

"What are you doing?" Ishida snapped, struggling to get away from her.

She didn't let go. "Just watch."

As they looked on, Renji and Rukia slid into battle formation side by side.

"Hikoutsu Taihou!" Renji yelled, hurling his snake-shaped bankai toward the mass of Adjuchas launching toward the place where Rangiku protected the humans. Red light passed from segment to segment, finally firing out of the snake's mouth in a huge ball of fire, taking out all the hollow it it's path.

"Tsugi no mai, Hakuren!" Rukia yelled at the same time, and a cylinder of ice shot out of her zanpaktou, freezing another swath of hollows.

Twenty or so managed to avoid the attacks.

"Getsuga Tenhou!"

"Neko Rinbu!"

Ichigo and Rangiku took out the remainder on the ground. Just as they did, the sky went dark, and Rangiku's eyes jumped to her former taichou.

"Sennen Hyourou!" Huge columns of ice sprung up around the makeshift battlefield, just shy of where Rangiku and the humans were standing. Toushirou turned his Hyourinmaru ninety degrees to the right, as if he were turning a key in a lock, and the columns began to revolve, swirling ever closer to their target.

"Shibari, Benihime!" A blood red net extended from the tip of Urahara's zanpaktou, shooting out and settling over Tousen just as the great columns of ice slid closed, trapping Tousen, Yammy, and the remainder of the Adjuchas inside.

Rukia and Toushirou swept their zanpaktou through the air, shattering the ice at the same time so that it rained down on them, tiny fragments glittering in the light of the sun.

The ice settled on Toushirou's shoulders and in his hair, and as his eyes met hers, burning with passion, Rangiku gasped.

He was magnificent.

The Adjuchas were gone, shattered with the ice, but the net and a critically injured Yammy remained. As Urahara grabbed the net holding Tousen in its grasp, Yammy stepped through a Garganta and disappeared.

* * *

Cats liked to cuddle. Toushirou found this out the hard way. He was slumped on the floor in Urahara's shop with the rest of the team, trying to figure out what the hell to do now, when a freshly-healed Rangiku walked into the room and curled up beside him.

Better her than Grimmjow.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, so naturally he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her into his side.

He didn't think anything of it until he noticed the others had stopped talking to gape at them. Rangiku must have realized it at the same time, because she blushed and shifted, starting to move away. He had a choice. He could drop his arm, let her sit up, make some sarcastic comment to diffuse the tension.

Or he could keep holding the woman he loved. No contest. He tightened his grip to stop her from leaving and sat back to bask in the silence.

Kurosaki was the first to break it. "You . . . y-you two are . . . ?"

He _heard_ Rangiku roll her eyes. "Sleeping together? Yes. Yes, we are."

That didn't sound right. It make her sound loose, him sound lecherous. It made their . . . situation . . . seem cheap and tawdry, when really they just . . . _were_. Things just worked, they were just _right_. And no matter what, Matsumoto Rangiku was no one's easy lay.

He hugged her closer, kissed the top of her head, showed the others in deed what he couldn't seem to express in words. She was essential to him. And whatever they were, well, it was so much more than "sleeping together."

* * *

After the debriefing, they went back to Toushirou's apartment and they both called Soul Society—Toushirou to deliver a preliminary report on the incident, and Rangiku to explain why she hadn't reported to work that afternoon as scheduled (not that she thought she'd been missed).

"All set!" she chirped as she snapped her soul phone closed and walked into the bedroom—or tried. She only made it to the doorway before she stopped short, mesmerized by the view.

Toushirou was barefoot, lounging on the bed with his arms folded behind his head and tufts of snow white hair obscuring his face. She knew he wished he was looking at the sky instead of the ceiling, and she had the sudden urge to put a skylight in their bedroom when they got back in Soul Society. For once, she didn't try to suppress thoughts of a future with him, a real relationship; he'd acknowledged her, in front of a room full of their peers. She'd never imagined that.

At her words, he turned his head, and her world narrowed to a sea of blue-green. Kami, he was hot, all relaxed and lazy like this. With the battle fought and won, with nothing to do but celebrate and prove they were still alive.

"So?" he murmured, raising his left eyebrow at her.

"Juu-kun says it's fine if I stay another day. I'll go back with you in the morning for the taichou/fukutaichou meeting."

His right eyebrow flew up to join the left. "_Juu-kun_?"

_Oops._ "Hehe, yeah, we're pretty casual. Anyway," she lowered her voice to a drawl, "for tonight, I'm all yours."

"Is that so?" He smirked, reaching out a hand to beckon her closer. The effect was devastating.

She stalked toward the bed, pulling her t-shirt over her head. Her fingers moved to button of her jeans, but she paused, noticing that he was staring at her chest in a way that, for him, wasn't normal.

"Toushirou?"

"What's that?" he mumbled, nodding to her chest.

"What's what?" she asked, looking down. "I don't see anything strange, what are you talk—_ohh_!" She squealed, practically jumping up and down. This was just too good. "Toushirou, you've never seen a bra before!"

"I—" he blushed. "Shut up! What is that thing?"

She grinned. "So innocent, Toushirou!"

His face turned red. "You know I'm not." He crossed his arms and looked away from her, and she bit her tongue. No use rubbing a sore spot.

"It's an undergarment. It keeps the girls lifted and separated for maximum cleavage and minimum bounce! All human women wear them!" She thought about that. "Well, all _decent_ human women!"

"Then how come I've never seen it?"

She shrugged. "We forgot to take off our gigai. I don't need it in my shihakusho." She fished around for her gikongan. "Should I—"

"No!"

Her eyes jumped to his, but he was too busy staring at her chest to notice.

"Toushirou?"

He swallowed, audibly. "Leave it."

She cocked her head at him. "But—"

He met her gaze then, and her ears popped from the pure desire he was projecting. He motioned her forward, reaching up to run two fingers along the line where cloth met skin. "Sometimes hidden is sexier than revealed, Rangiku."

_Apparently._

She moaned, shoving off her jeans and sitting down on the bed in her underwear as he thrust his hands into the cups of her bra, eyes on hers as he caressed what he couldn't see. Kami, how she loved this man. He was so composed, so inscrutable, even in bed. She knew he liked sex, appreciated her body, but he gave her the same approving-but-reserved reaction no matter what she did. Finding something that really got him really got _her_.

She glanced down at his obscenely tight pants that left nothing to the imagination.

She ran a finger over the tell-tale bulge, grinning when he groaned. "Such a pervert, Toushirou!"

Instead of denying it, like she expected, he rolled his eyes at her. "Every man is a pervert, Rangiku. Some of us just hide it better than others."

She burst out laughing and tackled him.

* * *

Toushirou braced himself as she dove on top of him. Silly woman. He fumbled with the absurd latching mechanism of this "bra." It was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen, but now he wanted it gone. She was too busy taking his clothes off to help, not that he wanted her to stop. He finally managed to unhook it, and then she was tugging it off her arms and dropping it on the floor, and his hands were full of the most beautiful breasts in Soul Society. He cupped them, feeling their heft, wondering how she managed to carry all that around every day without tipping over. No wonder she complained—not that that made it appropriate. He stroked the incredibly soft skin, running his thumbs back and forth against her nipples until she moaned and arched into the touch.

Encouraged, he wriggled around until she was leaning over him, and sucked one of the nipples into his mouth as he continued torturing the other with endless flicks and tugs. She writhed then, calling his name—Taichou, not Toushirou—and her fingers reached blindly for his zipper.

He pulled away then, stopping her. "Careful," he murmured, gingerly pulling the zipper down and letting his cock and balls spill out into sweet, sweet freedom. He kicked the pants off.

"Toushirou! Commando?"

"Huh?" He buried his face back in her breasts.

"You're supposed to wear boxers!"

He threw her a look. "You think boxers are going to fit in these pants?"

She slid down his body, pushing him until he rolled over onto his back and then rising above him. "So hot, Toushirou," she groaned as she took him in hand and swallowed him whole.

White light blinded him, and for a moment he thought he was in his inner world, but instead of bitter cold, there was an all-consuming heat. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he was pretty sure he was screaming as she sucked him, driving him crazy with lips and tongue and hot, sweet pressure.

He'd never let her do this before. She'd tried a couple times, but he'd stopped her, knowing this act, in particular, was associated with some of her worst memories. But now he had to believe she'd moved past that. They'd been fucking like bunnies for months now, and he'd never pressured her to do anything she hesitated about. If she wanted to do this, all the better for him.

He slid shaking fingers into the silken strands at the nape of her neck, petting rather than guiding, showing her how much this meant to him, how good it felt. And when the pleasure began to overwhelm him and he felt that tickle at the base of his hips that meant the end was in sight, he gave her hair a quick tug and then swooped down, capturing her lips in his.

"Mmmm," she murmured when they stopped to catch their breath. "Toushirou, you taste good."

She tasted better.

He'd waited too long to stop her. Desperate, he slid one hand between her legs, checking her readiness. Molten silk. He circled her clit once, twice, then plunged two fingers into her weeping slit. She clutched his arms, gasping.

"Now!" she demanded, nails biting into his skin. "Please."

He started to pull her on top of him.

"Not like that."

He tried to search her eyes through his lust-fueled haze. "How, then?"

She raised herself on hands and knees. "Behind me."

"Rangiku, I—" Her pleading gaze cut him off. "All right, whatever you want."

They hadn't done it like this since that time he wished they could both forget. As he settled himself behind her, he whispered, "if you need me to stop—"

"I won't."

"—promise me you'll say so."

She hesitated. "I will. Now hurry!"

He stroked her clit again, held onto her breasts as the best-ever anchor, and slid into heaven.

* * *

Rangiku moaned as he drove all the way home and her muscles struggled to accommodate his girth. "Kami-sama," she cursed, biting her lip. "So deep this way."

One hand moved from her breast to stroke her belly, as Toushirou draped himself over her back and kissed her shoulder. "Okay?"

_Better than okay_. It was fantastic. "Yeah."

Then he began to move, and she wondered if she'd made a horrible mistake. It felt wonderful, as always, the thrust and drag of nerve on nerve, the delicious contrast between full, so full, and then so very very empty.

But she had no power this way. When she was on top, she chose the pace, the rhythm, the depth. Now he had complete control, and she was just along for the ride. Her fingers clawed at the covers, unable to find purchase, and a sob rose up in her throat. Control wasn't that big of a deal, it would all be fine if she could just _see_ him, but she couldn't, and he could be anyone behind her, any one of a number of nameless, faceless men who had used her body for their own pleasure or wanted to. She felt for his reiatsu, but it was suppressed, trapped behind his iron walls and the gigai.

She sniffled and a tear trickled down her cheek. It was too stupid. It was him, of course it was him, it wasn't like he'd waited until she couldn't see him to switch with some other guy. That was crazy. She choked back a sob.

He paused, halfway inside her. "Rangiku?"

There, that was better. The panic thinned out a bit.

"Rangiku, are you all right?"

No, but she wasn't going to let on how crazy she was. He didn't need to know that.

His quiet tone did her in. "Rangiku, you promised."

She let out the sob she'd been holding back. "I'm okay, taichou," she whispered, "really, just keep talking to me. I know it doesn't make sense, but I need to know it's you."

She shivered instantly, as he dropped his barriers and frigid, familiar reiatsu overwhelmed her senses.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured in her ear, nipping the lobe. "So hot and tight and wet for me. Fit me like a glove, Ran, a hot, wet, silken glove." He circled his hips, grinding against her walls. "You feel what you do to me? You know how hard it is to control myself when we're around the others? I get hard just listening to your voice."

And she was ready to come, just from his. She'd never imagined such things coming out of his mouth. "Taichou," she moaned, pushing back against him.

"That's right, take what you want," he whispered, his breath tickling the tiny nerves in her ears, driving her wild.

"So close, taichou. Please!"

He sped up his thrusts, slamming in all the way and drawing almost all the way out before he slammed in again. Fingers pinched her nipple, hard, as others pressed directly on her clit.

"Come then," he commanded, sucking a mark on her shoulder.

Rangiku screamed, convulsing as wave after wave of sensation washed over her, almost too intense to be pleasure. Almost.

She hardly noticed when her spasms sent him over the edge, screaming out her name and clutching her tight enough to leave bruises. Good. She wanted to feel him tomorrow. Wanted to feel him always.

She began to slump over, then shot back to her knees. "Fuck!"

"Wha—?" Toushirou gasped, jolting upright too, voice lazy and confused. "What's wrong."

She ought to be shot. Just because things were going well didn't mean he wanted to be tied to her for life. She was so stupid! "Forgot the condom," she said in a small voice.

He chuckled, kissing her shoulder again and pulling her back into his arms and down onto the comfort of the mattress. "You forgot. I didn't."

She turned in his arms, kissing his eyes, his nose, his chin, before settling on his lips. Oh, thank kami. Always taking care of her.

As she drifted off to sleep, she murmured under her breath, "So good to me, Toushirou. I love you."

* * *

**A/N:**

Sorry this one took so long! It was a transitional chapter to get to the next (which is what the cliffhanger from last chapter is referring to, I know, sorry), which is almost done and should be up soon. I suck (repeat, suck) at writing battle scenes, so I procrastinated fuhevuh on it, and then spent a week or two scrapping every word I wrote. But here it is, and feel free to suggest tips on writing more effective fighting scenes...Lord knows I need them...

Thanks for reading, and please review! I seem to get double the reviews on my HitsuKarin story that I get on this, I don't know if it's because it's T or people just like the pairing better, but can I get some HitsuMatsu love up in here?

Love you guys.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Matsumoto practically bounced into the taichou/fukutaichou meeting, two steps behind the man who would always be the taichou of her heart. Sure, he kept walking to his spot and she had to stop and slide into place behind Ukitake, but not for long. She was thinking about asking Toushirou if she could come back to the Tenth. Things were going better than ever between them; they had obviously resolved their sexual tension, and after their talk last week—and the incredibleness of last night—their rapport was back, too. Whatever Toushirou's misguided reasons for transferring her to begin with, there was no reason everything couldn't go back to normal.

He glanced at her through his lashes as he took his spot between Shunsui and Kurotsuchi-taichou, and she fought to keep the blush off her face. He'd been giving her stray glances all morning, and she couldn't figure out what was going on. The night before had rocked her world, and she supposed she'd been kind of aggressive. But she'd had to be! She loved how gentle he was with her, ever since their redo. Feeling those calloused hands that could punch through solid ice holding her so carefully, stroking her so softly, was as moving as it was sweet. But sometimes a girl just needed to be grabbed and taken and objectified, and it was a sign of how comfortable she'd become with him that she trusted him enough to ask. The result had been better than her wildest dreams. He was a sex-machine and a sweetheart, and she wanted to be by his side forever, in more ways than one.

Having some other captain's back . . . well, frankly, it sucked. Even if it was Juu-kun. Transferring out of the Tenth had shaken the foundation of Rangiku's perfect little world, but at least she didn't have a hard time holding her head up at meetings like this. At first she'd worried everyone would think Hitsugaya had finally had it with her, but she quickly learned he'd spun some elaborate tale to take care of that. Something about focusing more on the real world and Ukitake needing help.

That should have been her warning.

Rangiku zoned out during most of the meeting, tuning back in to report what she'd seen of Yammy's plans and the escalating crisis in the World of the Living. She was about to fall asleep with her eyes wide open when the Soutaichou asked Toushirou to step forward.

"Hitsugaya-taichou, do you have anything to add to Matsumoto-fukutaichou's account?"

"No, Soutaichou," he declared, nodding at her. She smiled, taking it for the compliment she knew it was.

"Then give us the rundown on your mission," Yamamoto continued. "Have you come to a conclusion about how we should proceed as to one Kurosaki Ichigo, Substitute Shinigami of Karakura town?"

"I have."

Matsumoto rolled her eyes. Save her from old men and their useless formality. _Or, in Toushirou's case, young men_, she thought, biting back a giggle.

"Proceed."

He cleared his throat. "Kurosaki is a wildcard, but he doesn't have to be. He's powerful, headstrong, and as we can all attest, courageous to the point of stupidity. I've spent the last few months teaching him kidou, along with other disciplines he is lacking, and while his progress is slow, it has been steady. Kurosaki has the capacity for greatness. With a little training and a lot of oversight, he will make a great captain one day."

Toushirou paused, looking around the room. "But not today. He has much to learn, and while his position as an outsider has at times provided an important check on both Central 46 and the Gotei 13, it has outgrown its usefulness. In order to harness his strengths while minimizing risk, I recommend that Ich—that Kurosaki be brought into the Gotei 13 and trained as a seated officer. To that end, with the Soutaichou's permission, I am making Kurosaki Ichigo fukutaichou of the Tenth Squad."

Rangiku swallowed her tongue, numbness washing over her. She couldn't even finish a thought in her head, let alone speak. While the whole room looked at her, she couldn't even glance in his direction.

_What?_

Yamamoto banged his cane on the floor. "It shall be done."

What was left of Rangiku's heart crumbled into a million specks of ash. Fitting.

Around her, the meeting came to a close, but for Rangiku, time crashed to a halt.

It was over. He didn't want her back—he was replacing her. And yet again, he hadn't cared enough to tell her to her face.

As the other officers lingered in the doorway, he rushed away, checking his phone, and the clock started again.

"Why, Toushirou?" she demanded, racing after him. "Just tell me why!"

"It's for the best." He sounded confused, conflicted, and she hated him for it.

She shunpoed in front of him, cutting him off. "It's for the best? Nineteen years, and you give me _it's for the best_? Toushirou—" She realized she was screaming and people were looking, and she lowered her voice to hiss, "_Hitsugaya-taichou_, I think you owe me a little more of an explanation than that!" Her voice broke. "What did I do to make you not want me any more?" Their eyes met, hers clouded with tears, and he sighed, a long-suffering sound that made her feel worse than she did already.

"Ran," he began, voice gentle, "I—" he broke off as his phone beeped for the fifth time in two minutes. He pulled it out, making her glare, but the anger turned to worry as his eyes narrowed and he stepped around her, one hand on Hyourinmaru's hilt. "It's a 911, Matsumoto, I have to go. We can finish this later."

Instantly on alert, she raced after him, but he proved that he'd been holding back for her sake all these years, for he easily outpaced her. When she reached the senkaimon, he was already gone, but she charged ahead, drawing Haineko, determined to be ready for anything when she made it to the other side. The shiny metal of the sword caught her attention, and she stopped short.

Knowledge took time to build, wisdom, decades. But sometimes understanding could come in an instant. As Rangiku looked into her reflection in Haineko's blade, she finally saw what the signs had been pointing to all along.

_What am I doing?_

If he'd needed her help, he would have asked for it. How long had they been holding each other back, how long would it continue? How long could she keep on pretending that this was enough and trying to convince herself that it was more than it was, more than just sex? How long could she pretend that this was different, that it wasn't history repeating itself over and over until nothing of her was left?

_Never again. I swore I would never again chase after someone who turned his back on me._

Things were never going to change. They were never going to be more, never going to be a real couple. She'd been throwing herself at him, and he'd been taking what he wanted and rejecting the rest. He'd just been nicer about it than most guys. This was it, the turning point. She could follow him now, follow him forever, and die inside trying to be content with what he was willing to give her, or she could turn around, walk away, and perhaps salvage some part of her spirit, some tiny piece of her soul that didn't already belong to him.

She took one more look at her reflection, and she turned around.

And saw the Cleaner.

"Damn it!" she cursed, whirling back around and racing for the other side. So much for dramatic realizations. She'd have to follow him after all, but she wouldn't have to stay. She'd just say goodbye.

* * *

He hadn't expected her to be so upset; she couldn't have believed he'd keep that spot open forever. He was crippling himself without a second, and putting Ichigo in the position just made tactical sense. If she wasn't so emotional all the time, she'd realize it.

Too bad he liked her emotions, especially when they inspired her to do things like declare her love for him. Did everything have to be a double-edged sword?

Toushirou stepped out of the senkaimon in front of Urahara's shop and what he felt made him blanch. He slammed into the shop, wishing for all of his might that he was wrong.

He wasn't.

"KUROSAKI!" he roared, stalking toward the orange-haired teen, "Where did you find her? Take her back! Take her back where you found her right now!"

The little girl wobbled over to him, tugging on his obi. He flinched, backing away from her like she was a demon instead of a two-year old. Startled, she fell down and began to cry.

Rukia swept the child into her arms and comforted her, glaring at Hitsugaya the whole while. "Shhh, it's okay. Don't worry about him, he's just an old grump, that's all."

"No!" the child whined, leaning away from Rukia and stretching her arms toward Hitsugaya. "Down!"

Rukia let her down, and she ran back to him. He looked down at the little girl staring up at him with big brown eyes. Big, brown, _familiar_ eyes. Suddenly the kid latched onto his leg and squealed "Shee-o-chan!"

He glared at Kurosaki, unable to keep the pain and betrayal off of his face. The idiot was too busy gaping to notice.

"W-we didn't tell her, Toushirou," he stammered. "I promise. Hell, we've only had her ten minutes! Rukia and I have been with her the whole time, and no one's even mentioned you!"

"You mean . . . ." he trailed off, horrified and hopeful and horrified at his hopefulness.

". . . she remembers?" Rangiku whispered.

He flinched. He hadn't even realized his former fukutaichou was behind him. He detached Momo's reincarnation from his leg, handed her to Rangiku, and promptly collapsed to the floor.

"Toushirou!"

"Hitsugaya-taichou!"

Ichigo and Rukia rushed to help him, but he just held up his hands and huddled there on the ground, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Momo was supposed to be safe.

* * *

Rangiku caught the child, steadying her, and looked from the girl to her crumpled up, broken taichou, and back again. Her resolve cracked.

_Former_ taichou. Permanently. This was unexpected, but it changed nothing. Hating herself, hating him, hating this situation and the choice she had to make, she set the child down and turned back to Toushirou.

"I'm going back to Soul Society."

His eyes widened and his hands fell away from his face. "But you just got here!" His expression evened out. "Oh, you forgot something?"

She shook her head. "I'm not coming back, Toushirou." Her heart contracted as his expression went from shock to grief to careful blankness.

"_Why_?" he asked, pinning her with his enigmatic gaze.

She looked away, turned around, unable to face him and say this. "What are we doing, Toushirou?" she asked instead of answering. "What is this thing?"

He blinked. "I don't know."

She closed her eyes, wishing he would give her a reason to stay, knowing it was futile. "Exactly. This thing between us, whatever it is, we knew it couldn't last forever."

The blankness faded away and he looked so _lost_. His eyes jumped from her, to Momo's reincarnation, and back to her. "You're leaving me _now_?"

She couldn't reply. Did he think she _wanted_ to? She loved him, and all she wanted to do was rush over and hold him in her arms and wipe that lost look off his face by telling him it was all going to be okay.

"Rangiku?"

Tears streamed down her face. "Don't, Toushirou. Don't ask me to stay if you can't promise me anything. I can't bear it."

"_Ran_."

She flashed away before the grief brought her to her knees.

* * *

_Rangiku, don't leave!_ He wanted to yell, he wanted to run after her, hell, he wanted to freeze her in place and take his sweet time about it. But he had a bawling two-year-old tugging on his arms and no idea what to do about it, and seriously, she had to pick _that moment_ to throw a hissy fit and storm off?

But he knew it was more than a hissy fit. This wasn't his fukutaichou Matsumoto whining and stomping and slamming things around until he agreed to give her a day off or a raise or whatever it was she wanted that day. This was his lover walking out on him, and her words rang true. She meant them.

She'd finally left him.

_I thought you loved me._

Just then, Urahara burst into the room, covered in sweat. "What took you so long?" he demanded, panting. "I've been paging you for half an hour!"

"I was in a meeting," Toushirou groused, "what do you want from me? Besides, this is the worst thing that could have happened, but it's hardly an emergency." He gestured toward the next generation of his childhood friend.

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed. "Who's that?"

Toushirou froze. "You mean Momo isn't the reason you've been paging me?"

"Tousen's missing."

* * *

**A/N:**

Dun dun dun! So, sorry this took much longer than promised and is shorter than you've come to expect. I just couldn't find a way to make it longer without taking away from the intensity, which I hope shines through. As for the timing, well, suffice it to say my life is a mess right now. I just left one job, moved across the country to a big city that feels horribly uncomfortable and anonymous, and started a new job (today in fact!). In between, I took my first trip to Japan, which I can now confirm is one of the coolest countries in the world, and then came back and had a near-crippling bout of depression over the lack of coolness of my country and my life. Okay, so the depression may have been (still be?) about something else, but it was, unfortunately, all too real. Anyway, TMI, I know, the point is just that my rollercoaster emotional state and way-too-busy real life have been making it hard to write at all, let alone write something I'm happy enough with to publish. I'm still working on this story and PFC, updates will be coming, it's just all coming very slowly right now, with lots of stops and false starts. Thank you guys so much for bearing with me, and for continuing to follow and read my stories. I hope you enjoyed this, late and short as it was.

On a lighter note, assuming someone reviews this chapter, this story will have made it to 100 reviews! That's a huge landmark to me, and I really appreciate all of your support! YOU GUYS ROCK!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

When Rangiku could breathe again, she crawled to her feet and stepped through the senkaimon.

That was it. It was over.

There was no use in crying, moping, drinking herself into oblivion. She'd chosen this, and she had her reasons. She needed her own life, one that didn't depend on Toushirou for, well, everything. Her every bit of happiness had come from him, or through him, for as long as she could remember. If she'd been lost since he'd tossed her away as his fukutaichou, it was because she didn't know how to live without him.

"From now on," she whispered, making her way to the Thirteenth Division, "I'm gonna learn how to make myself happy."

"That's a good attitude, Ran. I'm glad to hear you say that."

"Juushirou!" She spotted him leaning against a building to her left. "What are you doing here?"

Green eyes reproached her. "A man can't go looking for his fukutaichou when she chases another man down the street and then goes missing in action?"

She paled. "I apologize, Ukitake-taichou," she whispered with a bow. "I should not have left my post without permission." She was supposed to have returned to her squad after the meeting, her time in the living world over for the moment. Going away without leave was unforgivable. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. Was she turning into Toushirou, retreating to formality when she felt uncertain? Was she going to become her own person by becoming him?

"Hmm," her new taichou hedged. "I think this time we can let it slide." He was at her side now, and she matched his pace, letting him lead her back to the office. "You caused quite a scene back there."

She nodded. Better to embrace it than feel embarrassed. "I know."

His eyes on her were searching. "Are you ready to tell me what's been bothering you?"

She stopped then, studied him. Her boss, but before that, always her friend. Maybe the nicest guy in the Seireitei. "Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, I'd like that."

His smile lit up the sidewalk. "Do we need sake? Should we make a detour to Shunsui's?"

"No on the sake, but let's go find Shunsui & Nanao-chan anyway." If she was going to tell this, she only wanted to do it once.

She ended up caving on the sake, but she'd have one glass for strength, and no more. She sank into the sofa in the Eighth Squad's administrative office with Juushirou on her left and Shunsui and Nanao across from them. Their gazes beseeched her, and she downed another sip of liquid courage.

"I don't know if any of you noticed," she began, proud she didn't stutter, "but for the last several months, I've been sleeping with Taichou." She dropped that bomb as if it weren't both the understatement of the year and the most ridiculous thing she'd ever said.

Shunsui and Nanao rounded on Ukitake, who threw up his hands. "Not me!"

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" Rangiku clarified, blushing. She took in their expressions of shock. Well, they hadn't noticed.

"Ran-chan, why don't you start at the beginning?" Shunsui suggested.

So she did. She told them the whole story, minus some of the juicier parts, starting with her feelings for him and that fateful night at the bar in Rukongai, and culminating with her leaving him with his hands full of reincarnated Momo. When she finished, they all just stared at her in silence, and she stared too, at her hands cradled in Juushirou's, overwhelmed by the whole of their relationship when she'd only ever thought about it in pieces and parts. You didn't end up in this kind of madness by looking at the big picture.

Nanao spoke first. "Wow. I can't believe you kept all that a secret. I know I told you, you keep too much to yourself, but jeez. I never thought . . . ." she trailed off.

"I didn't want you to think," Rangiku muttered. "And officially, this never happened, got it?"

"Do you love him?" Shunsui asked her, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from view.

"What do you mean, does she love him?" Nanao demanded. "What does that change? It's over, and he's an asshole!"

"It changes everything," he said, his voice soft. "You don't give up on love, even if the one you love is stupid and an asshole. Where would you and I be if . . . I'm not going to finish that, no matter what, it'll be bad for me."

Juushirou laughed, but Rangiku didn't.

"Of course I love him," she muttered. "But you're wrong, it doesn't change anything, because he doesn't love me back. I spent so much time pretending like it didn't matter, like I could be happy with whatever he could give me, but it was all a lie." She closed her eyes, the future unfolding behind their lids. "I could stay with him. So easily. If I stay I don't have to change, I can just spend my life running after him and clinging to whatever scraps of affection he's willing to toss out. Staying is safe." She pictured his face, those striking eyes, that smile he showed to far too few.

She breathed deep, scrambling for the edges of the resolve she'd forgotten she had. "I'm not leaving him because I can't stay, I'm leaving him because I'm worth more! I'm leaving because if I don't do it now, I'll never have the nerve again. He doesn't love me, and who could blame him, I don't even know who _me_ is any more. And I'm never going to find out if I stay in this cage! I have to spread my wings, on my own, fall down and pull myself back up again and remember that I'm strong too. Somewhere in me is the strength that led me here, and it's time for me to find it. Without him."

She looked up, and this time she knew the doubt, the fear, the insecure wavering were all gone. She was moving on.

"So what are you going to do?" Nanao asked her.

"I'm gonna concentrate on me. I have to stop trying to find what I need in someone else and learn how to make myself happy."

"I'll do whatever I can to help," Juushirou offered as he squeezed her hand.

Nanao and Shunsui agreed.

It felt incredible to have the support of her friends, to have all the secrets exposed to the light and thrust firmly in the past. Like a weight off her shoulders and a giant bear hug at the same time.

"Ugh, but Hitsugaya-taichou can just wait until he gets back to Soul Society," Nanao threatened. "I'm going to rip him apart!"

Rangiku glared at her. "Nanao, don't! That's still the man I love you're talking about, and he's still a good man. It's not his fault he doesn't love me. If it means anything, I think he's tried to."

"Hmm." Shunsui didn't seem so convinced.

* * *

Toushirou wanted to fall apart after she left, just sink into the ground and wait, silently, until the world stopped spinning, but there wasn't time. Search parties had to be organized. Momo's parents had to be found. Life was like that sometimes. The life-altering moments came, and even when you realized their significance, there just wasn't an opportunity to react. Life got in the way of life, or in his case, afterlife.

And so days later found him perched on a rooftop, Momo's reincarnation dozing in his lap. He'd had no luck convincing the others that they needed to send her as far away as possible from him, them, their whole fucked up shinigami world. It wasn't like they knew where she'd come from, and his search for her parents had turned up no leads. For all he knew, Yammy had killed them already. There wasn't anywhere for her to go.

"Momo," he murmured, stroking her hair. She burrowed deeper into him. "I'm sorry." This was the last thing he'd wanted. She had always been too good, too innocent for the job of reaping souls. He'd wanted her to have a life, friends, family, a home where her trusting nature would be a benefit, not a weakness. He'd wanted her to have the chance to be normal. And he'd planned to stay as far away from her as possible, so there would be no chance any memories of her afterlife might surface. So she didn't have to remember betraying him, being betrayed, dying on his sword.

But it didn't seem to matter what he wanted any more, if it ever had. Life was full of disappointment, whether it was the original or the afterlife.

Ichigo plopped down next to him, disturbing his solitude.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Done moping yet?"

"Tch." He couldn't beat the hell out of Ichigo with a child in his lap. "Feeling brave, Kurosaki?"

"So it's _Kurosaki_ now, huh? One thing goes wrong and you just retreat?"

He didn't respond, just stared out at the sky, watching the clouds gather. If he watched long enough, he knew they would disperse and fade away to nothing. An endless cycle. A reminder that, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Kurosaki, like the idiot he was, didn't take the hint. "Are you really just going to let Rangiku go? That woman's the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"You think I don't know that?"

"Then what the hell are you still sitting here for?"

"It doesn't go both ways. She's better off without me, and she finally realized it. End of story."

"Funny how you always think you know what's best," Ichigo scoffed, his aim true as ever, his words sharper than any sword. "And that best always involves pushing people away. You think the further they are from you, the better for them, and so you hurt everyone around you to make them go away. Why? You think it's so you can't hurt them? Please, it's so they can't hurt _you_! You want to go on living behind a wall of ice where you don't have to connect with your emotions so you don't have to feel regret, so you can't get hurt any more than you already have." He paused, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd say this to you, Toushirou, but grow up."

Toushirou sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, one hand making sure the child on his lap stayed steady in place. "Look, thanks for the pep talk, but you have no idea what you're talking about."

Ichigo stayed quiet for a minute, long enough to make Toushirou uncomfortable.

"So, is this it?" the teen mumbled.

"What now?"

"Is this it?" he repeated, louder. "The good life. Is this the best it gets?"

Knowing he was going to regret it, Toushirou let himself bite. "What are you getting at?"

"How old are you, Toushirou?"

"Sixty-seven." Sometimes he felt ancient.

"Sixty-seven years is a long time," Ichigo mused. "That's retirement age for humans, you know."

He hadn't.

The teen drew lazy circles in the dust on the roof tiles. "I bet you have a lot of memories."

_Too many._

"A lot of regrets."

_More than you'll ever know, kid._

"How old do you think Ukitake is?"

_Huh?_ Talk about a non-sequitur. "A thousand, at least. He and Kyouraku are older than dirt."

"Hmm. Wonder what they regret."

"Huh?"

But Ichigo was already shunpoing away.

_Damn it._ Toushirou hated it when people acknowledged his intelligence. It was much easier to scoff at the conclusion when they fed it to him with a spoon.

_Are you going to regret wasting the rest of your life on regrets?_

* * *

It was a long road, but Matsumoto was finally starting to make some progress.

The first few nights without him were absolute hell. Withdrawals like she couldn't believe, hot flashes, burning need, an empty ache that wouldn't be soothed. And the terrible, mind-numbing fear that it would always be this way, that she would never get over his touch.

The only way to get any sleep was to work until she passed out. So Rangiku threw herself into being Thirteenth Squad fukutaichou. And now that Juushirou knew she needed a real position, he made one for her, putting her in charge of squad member development, which boiled down to training and recruiting.

She created new routines, modeling many of them after the ones she'd run with Toushirou, and made the squad run through them over and over. When Juushirou was feeling well enough to help, there were two of them, so they were able to split the squad into smaller groups and really work on the gaps in each soldier's skills. She learned more from training them than she'd ever learned focusing on her own growth and development as a fighter. Not that she'd ever focused much before.

It was fantastic, the most fun she'd had doing her job, well, ever. But she couldn't help but wonder who was training her—_Toushirou's_—soldiers. With him away and her transferred, who was supervising, training, recruiting, making sure that the troops were healthy and fed and ready for anything that came their way?

She had to know. One day about two weeks into her self-sufficiency plan, she tapped lightly on Juushirou's doorframe as she walked into his office. "Juu-kun?"

"Oh, hi Rangiku! What can I do for you?" He eyed her carefully. "Anything wrong?"

"No," she said, honestly. "I'm good. I was just running through tomorrow's training regimen, and it made me worry about my squad. Do you know who's in charge of the Tenth while Toushirou's gone and I'm here? I was thinking maybe we could have them over and do a joint training session a couple times a week. You know, just until Toushirou gets back."

His eyes flickered, and he flipped from Taichou Juu to Counselor Juu in a single breath. "Rangiku, what is this really about? Are you really worried about your squad? Because, if you are, I can promise they are in good hands, that they're taken care of and there's no need for you to worry. And if you then want to check up on that, I'll tell you who's in charge. But I don't think that's what this is really about, is it? I think you're looking for a connection with Hitsugaya-kun. Be honest, isn't that what this is?"

She didn't know how to answer that.

About a week later, she was over at the Academy, scouting for the next crop of recruits. The students who were ready to graduate had finished their classes, and now the squads had a week to evaluate them and bid on who they wanted. The recruits would rank the squads, too, and then a computer program Kurotsuchi had created would take all those preferences and, oh, hell, she didn't know how it worked. She just knew that she and Juushirou wanted the best newbies they could get!

Getting the recruits to rank Squad Thirteen high wouldn't be hard. Juushirou had a great reputation, and if Rangiku knew one thing, it was that she was personable. Men would come to look at her, women would come to be her friend (except for those who were jealous, and weren't worth the trouble anyway). The problem was how to rank the recruits. She could do anything to test them, short of harming them. Kurotsuchi required full medical and psychological assessments, Shunsui performed interviews, often over a drink, and Kuchiki-taichou gave each recruit a skills and endurance test. She wasn't sure what Toushirou did, she'd always left recruiting up to him.

Rangiku had already spoken with each of the recruits, knew who she liked, but there was only one way to find out their skill levels.

"Listen up!" she called to the group. "Each of you are going to engage me in a one-on-one fight! Don't worry," she called to a couple of the girls, who were shaking in their _tabi_, "I won't fight back. You'll get the chance to hit me with your strongest kido and then your best zanjutsu attack. That's it, two attacks, so make them the best of your life and don't hold back. If you've got shikai, I wanna see you use it, all right?"

She called each one up and they came at her, one after another. Some of them were all right, some of them were horrendous, and some of them had an extra spark that she knew meant they'd rise above the rest. But no matter their skill level, she couldn't help giving each of them a little advice. "Nice hado incantation, but your kido will be stronger if you say it like you mean it!" "Your form is good, but your eyes are telegraphing your next movement. Try looking the opposite way before you swing to break that habit. Not _as_ you swing, _before_, got it?"

It took nearly two hours to get through them all. When she finally finished and collapsed into a puddle on the training grounds, one of the professors came up to her.

"That's an interesting assessment method you have, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," he remarked, sitting down next to her. "I'm Higarashi Daiki, the upper-level zanjutsu professor."

"Nice to meet you." She wished he'd go away so she could take a nap.

"What would you say if I offered you a job?"

She started overseeing an upper level zanjutsu practicum the very next week.

If she were going to work herself into exhaustion, well, at least she was helping someone in the process. Damn, it felt good to be needed.

* * *

Toushirou was a wreck; he couldn't live in his own head. So he did what he did when he needed to stay busy: he planned. This time they weren't going to wait for Yammy to attack them. They were going after him, and they were going to settle this, once and for all.

* * *

**A/N:**

There comes a point where something isn't an aberration any more, it's just the norm. No apologies. It's concise, it took months, and I'm owning it; that's just the way this fic is sometimes. I hope you like it anyway. Thanks for reading, and please review!


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